A  Georgian  Actress 


Act  II. 


Rose 


London,  Printed  for  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  Nov.  g,  1774. 


A  Georgian   Actress 


UNIT.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


A  Georgian  Actress 


BY 

Pauline  Bradford  Mackie 

(Mrs.  Herbert  MUller  Hopkins) 

Author  of 

"  Mademoiselle  De  Berny,"  "  Ye  Lyttle  Salem 
Maide,"  etc. 


Illustrated  by 
E.  W.   D.   Hamilton 


BOSTON 

L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY  (INCORPORATED) 
MDCCCC 


Copyright,  1900 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  AND  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


Colonial  Jprrss 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  Slmonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 


TO  MY  BROTHERS 

atrtJ  Cecil  Ucnntgton  ffiadue 

THIS   STORY   IS   LOVINGLY   INSCRIBED 


2131493 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Miss  ANN  JOHNSON  AS  ROSE  .  Frontispiece 
"  PEGGY  BEGAN  CROONING  AN  INDIAN  LUL- 

LABY" 16 

"  HE  GAVE  THE  LINES  AS  ONLY  HE  COULD 

GIVE  THEM  "  .  .  •  \  •  •  189 
"  SHE  FASTENED  THE  LAST  LETTER  IN  THE 

FRONT  OF  HER  DRESS "        .        .        .217 


A  Georgian  Actress 


Chapter  I 

"1V/T  ADAME> "  said  Ann»  " tel1  me  of 
1\ A  that  England  which  lies  over  the 

sea  where  Peggy  and  I  are  to  go  some 
day." 

Madame,  stepping  back  from  the  em- 
broidery-frame that  she  might  draw  with 
freedom  the  shining  length  of  fine  silk 
through  the  linen,  replied  monotonously : 
"It  is  a  fertile  country,  surrounded  by 
the  sea  —  " 

"  I  know  all  that,"  interrupted  Ann, 
eagerly,  "  but  tell  me  of  the  people. 
Bethink  you,  I  have  seen  no  man's  face 
save  my  father's  unless  you  would  observe 
the  Indians.  No  gentlewoman  have  I 
known  other  than  yourself.  Oh,  how 
often  at  night  have  I  stood  lonely  at  my 


8  A  Georgian  Actress 

window  and  put  forth  my  arms.  '  Even 
so,  dear  moon,'  I  say,  (  do  you  shine  white 
upon  that  mighty  Rome  of  which  I  read, 
and  in  your  light  do  lovers  walk.'  I  think 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet ,  which  play,  Madame, 
affects  me  profoundly,  so  that  I  sigh  to  my- 
self, yet  not  all  for  pain.  But  when  the  sun 
shines  I  think  of  England  and  the  children 
playing  in  the  meadows.  I  think  I  should 
be  most  content  to  frolic  awhile  with  the 
little  English  children.  I  would  tease 
them,  but  only  very  lovingly,  and  then  I 
would  make  daisy-wreaths  for  them  such 
as  I  have  read  about.  I  think  the  chil- 
dren must  be  sweeter  than  flowers  even." 

Madame,  matching  the  silk  for  the 
yellow  heart  of  a  rose,  did  not  reply. 
The  sunlight  fell  aslant  the  rich  border 
of  the  cloth.  Amidst  loving  lavishness 
of  gold  thread  she  laid  in  stitches  in  clear 
scarlet,  green,  purple,  and  blue. 

The  blue  was  as  the  sky  at  noon  and 
the  purple  soft  as  the  twilight.  The  green 
held  the  greenness  of  the  emerald  spring. 
But  the  beauty  of  the  scarlet  colour 
thrilled  her  afresh  whenever  she  drew  the 


A  Georgian  Actress 


cover  from  the  frame  to  recommence 
work.  She  herself  had  sown  and  tended 
the  flax,  gathered  and  spun  it  and  bleached 
the  threads,  that  this  cloth  for  the  altar 
might  be  the  labour  of  her  own  hands. 
In  the  centre,  where  the  service  of  the 
Holy  Sacrament  should  repose,  she  would 
embroider  a  lamb  in  silk  of  the  whiteness 
that  gleams  like  silver. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  urge  upon  my  fa- 
ther the  necessity  of  taking  us  soon  to 
England,"  ventured  Ann,  timidly. 

Madame's  hands  shook  so  that  she 
threaded  her  needle  with  difficulty.  "  How 
many  times  have  I  told  you,  Ann,  that  it 
is  best  to  desire  naught,  neither  pleasure 
nor  power,  neither  wisdom  nor  love. 
Pleasure  will  burn  to  ashes ;  power  is  a 
delusion ;  wisdom  is  vanity.  As  for  love, 
lo,  love  is  emptiness." 

"  I  will  have  pleasure,"  cried  Ann, 
pursing  her  lips  obstinately.  "  As  for 
power,  that  suffices  for  men.  Neither  care 
I  for  wisdom,  which  might  grow  irksome. 
But  as  for  love,  —  why,  love  is  pleasure." 

"  Love  is  pain,"  said  her  companion. 


io  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Then  love  is  pain  and  pleasure,"  per- 
sisted she,  gaily. 

"The  pain  remains,"  ended  Madame, 
sternly. 

Ann's  mouth  quivered.  "You  make 
me  afraid  when  you  talk  so.  Why  should 
I  wish  to  live  if  all  is  as  you  say  ?  "  She 
rose  and  stood  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Never  had  there  been  known  such  an 
autumn  in  the  valley. 

"  It  is  the  smoke  from  old  Maushope's 
pipe,"  said  the  Indians,  as  the  hazy  air 
grew  bluer,  filling  the  forest  gaps  with 
purple.  Morning  after  morning  the  sun 
came  up  copper-coloured  and  the  delicate 
hoar-frost  vanished  like  a  breath.  Each 
moment  of  the  magic  days  seemed  deli- 
ciously  prolonged.  The  tangled  branches 
of  the  blackberry  and  the  sumac's  velvet 
plumes  flamed  along  the  byways  and  the 
outskirts  of  the  forest.  There  was  the  soft, 
incessant  sound  of  falling  leaves  and  the 
bursting  of  pufF-balls,  and,  more  distinct, 
the  patter  of  nuts  dropping,  while  louder 
yet  rose  the  chattering  of  the  squirrels. 
Flocks  of  birds  drifted  slowly  southward. 


A  Georgian  Actress  1 1 

Far  as  her  gaze  could  reach  Ann  saw 
but  the  great  forests,  —  her  prison  walls. 

Through  the  dusky  green  of  the  pines 
showed  the  brilliant  hues  of  the  changing 
maple,  the  butternut,  and  hickory  trees. 

"  Of  all  things,"  she  said  aloud,  with  a 
defiant  glance  over  her  shoulder  at  her 
companion,  "  of  all  things,  I  hate  trees." 

All  the  beauty  of  the  autumn  forest 
she  beheld  with  listless  eyes ;  to  all  its 
mysterious  melody  she  turned  unheeding 
ears.  Beyond,  beyond,  lay  the  world. 

Her  sewing  slipped  from  her  fingers  to 
the  garden  below.  Indifferent  to  its  fate, 
she  watched  with  unseeing  eyes  the  waving 
tree-tops.  Her  face  suddenly  brightened. 
She  turned  impulsively  and  knelt  beside 
Madame,  who,  wearied  by  long  standing 
before  the  embroidery-frame,  had  seated 
herself. 

"  Dear  Madame,"  coaxed  the  girl, "  why 
will  you  never  speak  to  me  of  my  mother 
and  forbid  that  I  should  even  mention  her 
name  to  my  father  ?  What  would  you 
think  if  I  told  you  that  I  knew,  that  I 
had  guessed,  the  reason  why  ?  "  She  held 


12  A  Georgian  Actress 

her  head  back,  looking  up  into  the  other's 
face,  her  eyes  bright  with  mischievous 
spirit,  her  smile  arch  as  that  of  one  who 
had  surprised  a  delightful  secret.  "Is  it 
not  because  she  was  such  a  great  and  beau- 
tiful lady  that  you  fear  to  tell  me  lest  I 
should  become  vain  of  her  memory  and 
grow  to  care  for  worldly  things  ?  Ah, 
you  would  reprove  me  if  you  but  knew 
how  precious  is  the  thought  of  her.  I 
picture  to  myself  how,  when  Peggy  and 
I  go  out  into  the  world,  those  who  knew 
our  mother  will  whisper  when  our  backs 
are  turned.  And  though  I  shall  hear 
them  not,  yet  shall  I  know  what  they 
say.  And  if  either  of  us  looks  good  in 
their  eyes  they  will  say :  f  She  has  some- 
what of  her  mother's  beauty.'  And 
should  one  of  us,  by  a  lucky  chance, 
address  them  with  some  poor  grace  of 
speech,  they  will  smile  and  exchange 
glances  and  think :  '  Now  is  her  mother's 
brave  wit  hers.'  Then  shall  I  be  happy. 
It  will  be  as  I  now  think.  My  mother's 
love,  which  here  I  never  knew,  awaits 
me  in  the  world.  For  that  love  she 


A  Georgian  Actress  13 

gave  her  friends  will  spring  to  life  again  in 
their  hearts  when  they  see  her  daughters. 
Thus  will  her  memory  rise  to  meet  and 
bless  us  in  the  world.  Ah,  dear  Madame, 
tell  me  who  my  mother  was  !  " 

Madame  seldom  accorded  Ann  a  caress, 
yet  now  she  stroked  the  rounded  cheek. 

"  And  sometimes  I  have  thought,"  con- 
tinued the  girl,  encouraged,  "  that  perhaps 
you  were  her  companion,  watched  over 
her  as  you  do  over  Peggy  and  me,  saw 
that  what  she  wore  became  her  beauty, 
your  fingers  plaited  her  long  and  shining 
hair—" 

A  strange  smile  flitted  over  the  older 
woman's  face. 

It  chilled  Ann,  who  rose  slowly  to  her 
feet,  half- frightened.  "  Perchance  I  should 
not  have  asked  you,"  she  faltered,  "  per- 
chance I  do  presume." 

"  Have  I  ever  failed  in  my  duty  to 
you  ?  "  asked  Madame. 

Ann's  white  throat  swelled  with  an 
unuttered  sob.  The  tears  rushed  to  her 
eyes.  She  shook  her  head,  not  trusting 
herself  to  speak,  and  hurried  from  the 


14  A  Georgian  Actress 

room.  She  went  down-stairs  into  the  gar- 
den lying  back  of  the  castle.  The  high 
brick  walls  of  this  garden  stretched  well 
into  the  forest,  seeming  to  push  back 
the  trees  that  crowded  jealously  forward 
and  thrust  long  arms  over  the  coping.  A 
brook  strayed  across  one  corner  and  out 
again,  and  there  a  grotto  had  been  built. 
Closely  trimmed  box  bordered  the  flower 
beds  and  winding  paths.  There  were  no 
shade-trees  because  the  shadow  of  the 
forest,  varying  with  the  position  of  the  sun, 
always  fell  across  some  part  of  it.  But 
there  were  a  few  fruit-trees  and  grape 
and  honeysuckle  arbours.  In  the  spring 
the  tulip  beds  planted  by  the  High  Dutch 
girl,  and  tended  so  sacredly  by  her  daugh- 
ters, burst  into  gorgeous  bloom. 

The  negro  women  had  some  time  since 
gathered  the  grapes  and  made  them  into 
wine  and  preserves  for  the  long  winter. 
But  here  and  there  a  bunch,  overlooked, 
had  reached  the  perfection  of  ripeness 
and  hung,  a  purple-black  cluster  with 
a  wine-like  ray  where  the  sun  shone 
through.  Here  Ann  paused  and  ate 


A  Georgian  Actress  15 

some  of  the  grapes.  Then  picking  the 
largest  bunch  in  reach,  she  followed  a  path 
that  led  to  the  far  corner  of  the  garden. 
There  she  found  her  sister. 

"You  are  grown  too  great  a  girl  to 
play  with  dolls,  Peggy,"  she  said,  aus- 
terely, "  bethink  yourself  that  we  shall 
soon  go  forth  into  the  world  where  it 
behoves  us  to  be  nimble-witted  through 
much  learning  to  cope  with  what  shall 
befall  us  therein,  for  by  lack  of  knowl- 
edge, as  well  as  inexperience,  we  may 
appear  most  strange  and  foolish  in  others' 
eyes." 

The  little  sister,  seated  on  the  ground, 
one  doll  clasped  to  her  breast,  glanced  up 
wistfully. 

"  Dear  Ann,"  she  entreated,  "  suffer 
me  just  this  afternoon  to  play  with  them 
and  to-morrow  I  will  read  with  you." 

"  I  fear  you  like  books  none  too  well," 
sighed  Ann ;  "  here  are  some  grapes  for 
you.  They  are,  indeed,  sweeter  than 
honey."  As  she  walked  away  she  fell 
a-day-dreaming,  and  her  tears  of  a  moment 
ago  were  forgotten. 


1 6  A  Georgian  Actress 

Left  alone,  Peggy  began  crooning  an 
Indian  lullaby  to  the  doll  in  her  arms. 
Turning  after  awhile  to  lay  it  down,  she 
saw  that  a  drift  of  leaves  had  been  blown 
with  mysterious  suddenness  over  her 
other  children  propped  in  a  row  against 
the  wall. 

As  she  began  to  brush  the  leaves  away 
she  heard  the  cawing  of  a  crow  in  the 
pines  outside. 

"Caw,"  she  mocked,  "caw-caw-caw. 
You  are  an  idle  chatterer,  Jokawe !  " 

"  Caw,  caw,"  came  the  answer  from  the 
pine-trees. 

Peggy  picked  up  a  stick.  "  Caw,"  she 
mimicked,  "idle  chatterer.  Go  home  to 
your  wife  and  children,  Jokawe."  She 
flung  the  stick  high  up  among  the 
branches  and  looked  to  see  the  shining 
black  body  of  Jokawe  rise  and  circle  away 
into  the  blue  sky. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a 
cry  of  terror.  High  in  the  branches  a 
laughing  face  appeared. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  she  cried. 

The  face   vanished.     There   came   no 


"  PEGGY    BEGAN    CROONING    AN    INDIAN    LULLABY. 


A  Georgian  Actress  17 

reply  to  her  question.  The  boughs 
rustled. 

A  moment  later  a  young  man  swung 
from  the  branches  and  seated  himself  on 
the  wall. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  I  am  Jokawe,"  mocked  the  stranger, 
"Jokawe,  the  crow-man  who  teaches  the 
young  crows  caw-caw." 

Peggy  stared  up  at  him  gravely.  Her 
fear  had  passed,  for  she  saw  he  was  but  a 
man  as  her  father  was,  and  belonged  to 
that  far  world  of  which  Ann  talked  so 
much.  Moreover,  she  knew  he  was  not 
Jokawe,  the  crow-man.  For  Jokawe  had 
black  wings  instead  of  arms. 

"Wait  you  still,"  she  said,  "whilst  I 
go  get  Ann." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  he,  "  do  not  run  away. 
I'll  tell  you  who  I  am." 

The  little  maid's  rosy  mouth  was  firmly 
set.  "  I  will  go  get  Ann,"  she  repeated. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  threatened, 
"when  you  return  with  her  I  shall  be 
gone.  I  shall  have  turned  into  a  crow 
and  flown  away.  Caw  !  "  He  pointed  to 


1 8  A  Georgian  Actress 

her  dolls.  "Your  children  will  get  cold 
if  you  uncover  them.  'Twas  I  who  flung 
down  the  leaves." 

Peggy  knelt  quickly  and  spread  her 
arms  over  her  dolls. 

He  laughed.  "  I  have  watched  you 
often ;  sometimes  I  have  flung  down  nuts 
and  you  have  thought  it  a  squirrel.  And 
I  have  whistled.  Listen,"  putting  his 
fingers  to  his  mouth. 

Was  there  a  mocking-bird  in  the  leaves 
above  ?  Ah,  the  melody,  the  sweetness  ! 

As  he  ceased,  Peggy  raised  her  hand. 
"  Hush,"  she  whispered. 

Faintly  from  far-oflf  forest  depths,  rising 
infinitely  high  and  sweet  and  as  softly 
dying  away,  came  the  answering  song. 

"  Do  you  not  know  me  ? "  asked  the 
young  man.  "  Look  close." 

"  I  know  you  not,"  she  said. 

"  Try  once  again,"  he  begged.  "  Why, 
fie  on  you,  little  maid,  that  you  cannot 
read  my  features.  Bear  I  no  likeness  to 
your  father  ? " 

Peggy,  gazing  with  all  will  to  please, 
laughed  and  put  up  her  arms.  "  Ann, " 


A  Georgian  Actress  19 

she  cried,  "  Ann ! "  Yet  even  as  the 
name  left  her  lips  her  arms  fell.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  "  she  whispered,  frightened. 

"  I,"  he  mocked,  "  I  am  Ann." 

"  Ann,"  said  the  little  maid,  piteously, 
"  it  is  not  you."  The  tears  came  to  her 
eyes.  "  Ann,"  she  added,  faintly,  "  it 
grieves  me  sorely  if  this  be  you." 

"  Caw-caw,"  he  mimicked,  "  I  am  not 
Ann.  I  am  Jokawe  the  crow-man,  and 
my  wife  has  one  white  wing  and  one 
black,  but  mine  are  both  black  and 
shining." 

Peggy  stooped  and  gathered  up  her 
dolls.  She  made  several  steps  blindly 
for  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

A  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder :  the 
tantalising  voice,  grown  gentle,  spoke  in 
her  ear.  "  Forgive  me,  sweetheart,  and 
look  up.  See,  I  am  not  Ann,  but  like  Ann 
because  I  am  her  brother.  Do  not  cry,  J 
but  jested.  Am  I  not  your  brother  as 
well  as  hers  ?  " 

Peggy  smiled  through  her  tears.  "  Oh, 
now  I  know,"  she  cried,  "  you  are  Ann's 
and  my  brother  in  that  strange  world  of 


2O  A  Georgian  Actress 

which  she  talks  so  much.  Can  you  tell 
me  if  we  shall  find  many  brothers  in  that 
world?" 

"  But  one,"  he  answered,  "  as  I,  though 
I  hunt  the  wide  world  o'er,  shall  find 
but  two  sisters.  1  am  just  come  home 
from  London,  where  I  was  knighted  by 
his  Majesty.  But  let  us  sit  down  on  the 
grass  here  behind  these  rose-bushes,  that 
we  be  not  observed,  and  I  will  tell  you 
more." 

An  hour  passed.  The  breeze,  beginning 
to  freshen  toward  sunset,  rippled  the  grass 
at  their  feet.  Now  and  then  Peggy 
shifted  the  position  of  the  dolls  in  her 
arms.  She  was  an  entranced  listener. 
For  the  first  time  she  had  forgotten  Ann. 

At  the  castle  the  negroes  prepared 
supper. 

Madame  Van  Vrankin  had  retired  to 
the  chapel  to  pray  at  this  hour,  as  was 
her  custom. 

In  the  semi-darkness  of  the  drawing- 
room  Ann  sat  at  her  spinet,  playing  all 
she  loved  best  to  comfort  herself  for  her 
recent  tears. 


Chapter   II  . 

ANN,  unclosing  happy  eyes  at  sunrise 
the  next  morning,  lay  quietly.  What 
sweet  and  delicious  experience  had  been 
hers  in  sleep,  that  her  waking  soul  still 
thrilled  to  the  pleasure  of  it  ?  Fretting  at 
last  at  the  vain  effort  of  memory  to  recall 
it,  loath  to  pass  from  the  fleeting  dream 
to  meet  the  sober  day,  she  turned  on  her 
pillow  to  sleep  again.  But  soon  she 
raised  herself  restlessly  to  look  out  of  the 
window  and  observe  the  weather.  The 
movement  brought  her  in  line  with  the 
bar  of  red  sunlight,  which,  falling  across 
the  coverlid,  now  streamed  upon  her  slim 
body  in  its  white  nightrobe  and  the  braid 
of  black  hair. 

Terunda,  the  green  parrot,  sleeping  on 
a  footpost  of  the  ponderous  bed,  was  also 
bathed  in  this  refulgent  light. 


22  A  Georgian  Actress 

"Wake  up,  Peggy,"  cried  Ann,  "and 
see  how  strange  the  morning  is." 

Peggy  stirred  in  her  sleep  and  flung 
out  one  arm.  "  I  shall  be  your  little 
mother,"  she  murmured. 

"  Now  why  will  you  be  my  little 
mother  ?  "  coaxed  Ann. 

But  Peggy,  not  thus  to  be  beguiled 
into  speaking,  wakened. 

"You  were  talking  in  your  sleep," 
laughed  Ann.  "  See  how  copper-coloured 
the  light  is  this  morning,  more  than  ever." 

Peggy  slipped  out  of  bed  and  went 
over  to  the  window.  The  sun,  a  fiery 
ball,  hung  low  in  a  gray  sky.  The  forest 
in  the  valley  moved  in  waving  undula- 
tions like  the  sea.  "  It  is  a  storm  sun," 
she  announced ;  "  see  how  a  mist  creeps 
over  it.  And  did  you  notice  how  the 
moon  last  night  held  water  and  tipped  so 
that  a  hunter  could  have  hung  his  bow  on 
the  horned  end  ?  "  She  put  up  her  hand 
and  stroked  Terunda,  who  had  fluttered 
over  and  perched  himself  on  her  shoulder. 
"  We  shall  have  no  more  warm  days 
now." 


A  Georgian  Actress  23 

Peggy's  prophecy  came  true. 

The  long  and  delicious  Indian  summer 
was  past.  A  damp  and  chilling  wind  arose 
and  blew  continuously,  and  the  sun  never 
showed  its  face  from  behind  the  gray 
mist. 

The  first  fire  was  lighted  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  Madame  Van  Vrankin, 
ever  sensitive  to  the  cold,  sat  shivering 
in  front  of  it. 

All  that  bleak  afternoon  Ann  sat  on 
the  hall  window-seat,  the  heavy  curtains 
drawn  around  her  for  warmth,  while  she 
read  Rollins's  Ancient  History,  her  vivid 
imagination  colouring  the  dull  text ;  read 
until  her  cheeks  burned  with  excitement 
and  her  fingers  grew  cold  from  the  bitter 
wind  pouring  in  the  window-cracks ;  read 
until  the  twilight  crept  between  her  and 
the  printed  pages  and  the  faintly  tinged 
clouds  of  the  cold  sunset  took  on  the 
form  of  her  dreams. 

Peggy  lingered  in  the  garden  unmindful 
of  her  dolls.  She  waited  in  vain  the  com- 
ing of  yesterday's  guest.  She  confided  no 
word  of  the  adventure  to  Ann,  not  in 


24  A  Georgian  Actress 

obedience  to  a  well-thought-out  reason, 
but  because  she  was  by  nature  most  secre- 
tive. After  supper  she  sought  the  old 
Indian  Naukoska,  who  kept  the  castle 
gate. 

"  Naukoska,"  she  asked,  "  what  are  the 
pines  saying  to-night  ?  Hear  how  they 
are  talking,  so  loud  !  " 

Old  Naukoska  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  raised  his  head  to  listen. 
"  They  are  singing  the  tale  of  The  Wolf- 
brother"  he  said,  after  awhile. 

"  Repeat  it  to  me,"  begged  the  little 
maid,  wistful  to  be  beguiled  from  her 
disappointment. 

"The  trees  say  it  is  a  wild  night," 
spoke  Naukoska,  in  the  Indian  language 
which  Peggy  understood,  "  and  that  the 
wildness  of  the  night  makes  them  remem- 
ber the  story  of  The  Wolf-brother,  for 
whenever  the  wind  moans,  its  voice  brings 
to  mind  a  tale  that  is  sad." 

"  I  should  prefer  a  merry  tale  to-night, 
Naukoska,"  said  the  little  maid,  pleadingly, 
"  one  that  will  make  me  laugh." 

"  Nay  ; "  he  answered,   "  they  tell  but 


A  Georgian  Actress  25 

the  tale  of  The  Wolf-brother  to-night. 
They  say  that  once  upon  a  time  there 
were  two  brothers  and  one  sister,  and  that 
the  three  lived  together,  for  their  parents 
were  dead.  The  sister,  who  was  much 
given  to  the  wearing  of  fine  wampum  and 
the  braiding  of  her  long  hair  with  beads 
and  to  putting  on  long-fringed  leggins 
and  gay  moccasins,  had  no  time  to  care 
for  the  little  brother.  Neither  did  the 
elder  brother  have  time,  for  the  blood 
of  manhood  was  rushing  in  him  and  he 
had  shame  to  play  with  children.  So  the 
little  brother  grew  lonely  and  ran  away 
weeping.  Now  the  sister  heard  him  weep- 
ing as  he  ran,  and  she  thought  it  was  a 
dove  mourning  and  hearkened  not.  He 
passed  close  by  the  elder  brother,  who 
heard  him  weeping  also,  but  believed  the 
sound  to  be  the  whimpering  of  a  cub  which 
had  run  into  the  bush  after  he  had  killed 
its  mother  for  her  fine  coat.  When  the 
little  brother  did  not  come  back,  they 
knew  he  was  lost  in  the  forest  and  believed 
him  dead.  But  when  the  snow  melted 
and  the  soft  rains  fell,  the  elder  brother 


2  6  A  Georgian  Actress 

went  forth  on  a  long  fishing  trip.  One  after- 
noon near  the  close  of  day,  he  was  out 
on  the  lake  in  his  canoe.  He  heard 
some  one  singing : 

" '  My  brother,  my  brother, 
I  am  turning  into  a  wolf, 
I  am  turning  into  a  wolf.' 

Then  he  saw  his  little  brother  standing 
on  the  shore.  He  paddled  toward  him, 
and  on  drawing  near  was  frightened  to 
behold  him  half-turned  into  a  wolf.  He 
reached  the  shore  and  drew  his  canoe  upon 
the  beach  and  sprang  out.  He  ran  toward 
his  brother  and  strove  to  catch  him  in  his 
arms,  crying,  £  My  brother,  my  brother, 
come  to  me  ! '  But  the  little  brother  eluded 
his  embrace,  and  fled,  still  singing : 

" '  My  brother,  my  brother, 
I  am  turning  into  a  wolf, 
I  am  turning  into  a  wolf.' 

Then  he  disappeared  in  the  forest. 

"The  hunter  stood  still  and  listened. 
Soon  he  heard  the  howling  of  a  wolf. 
Then  very  sad  he  went  away.  At  the 


A  Georgian  Actress  27 

melting  of  the  snows  every  year  he  went 
to  that  spot  on  the  lake  shore  and  called, 
but  the  Wolf-brother  never  came  again. 
Thus  goeth  the  tale  which  the  pines  are 
telling  each  other  to-night,  and  some  of 
the  oldest  trees  remember  hearing  the 
little  brother  weep  as  he  passed  under 
their  shade  the  day  he  ran  away.  Hear 
how  soft  they  rustle  now.  They  show 
thus  how  loud  he  wept." 

Naukoska  fell  to  smoking  his  pipe 
again. 

Outside  the  wall  the  trees  swayed 
wildly.  The  wind  had  broken  the  leaden 
sky,  and  now  and  then,  through  swiftly 
moving  clouds,  shone  out  a  star  burning 
brightly  in  the  deep  blue  heavens. 

The  story,  the  night,  affected  Peggy 
strangely.  Why  had  not  her  brother 
come  ?  Was  this  precious,  newly-found 
possession  to  be  taken  from  her  ?  The 
deeply  maternal  instinct  in  the  little  maid 
had  been  stirred  to  its  depths.  All  that 
was  protecting  and  lovable  in  her  had  gone 
out  to  him.  Old  Naukoska's  face,  the 
stone  wall,  faded  away.  She  seemed  to 


28  A  Georgian  Actress 

see  her  brother  alone  in  the  forest,  no 
longer  wearing  the  scarlet  coat  of  yester- 
day, but  a  shaggy  skin.  Gaunt,  longer  of 
limb,  in  her  fancy  he  turned  and  glared  at 
her,  and  as  she  met  his  gaze  she  thrilled 
with  terror.  His  smile  was  no  longer 
pleasant,  his  eyes  were  those  of  a  wolf! 
She  sprang  to  her  feet  and  shook  the 
nodding  Naukoska  awake. 

"  Naukoska,  Naukoska  !  "  she  cried, 
"  open  the  gate  !  "  For  suddenly  she  felt 
she  must  go  to  her  brother,  to  wrap  her 
arms  around  him,  to  press  her  face  to  his 
changed  one,  to  hold  him  within  her  em- 
brace until  that  which  was  so  strange,  so 
ferocious,  should  pass  away. 

"  Naukoska,"  she  cried,  impatient  at 
the  old  man's  delay,  "  it  is  I,  thy  little 
daughter  of  the  Singing  Trees.  Nau- 
koska, open  the  gate  for  me." 

Slowly  he  rose,  unlocked  and  pushed 
open  the  heavy  gate.  "  Thou  wouldst  go 
out  and  see  how  all  goes  in  the  forest  to- 
night," he  said  indulgently,  "  To-morrow 
we  shall  have  snow." 

It   was   a   secret   between    these   good 


A  Georgian  Actress  29 

friends  that  every  night  he  undid  the  gate 
and  she  stepped  outside  for  a  little  while, 
breathing  all  the  peace  and  balmy  scents 
of  the  forest,  enchanted  that  no  walls 
surrounded  her.  Now,  as  she  stood 
without  in  the  majestic  woods  and  felt  the 
cool  rush  of  air,  unbroken  by  the  wall, 
sweep  over  her,  the  hot  impulse  died 
down  and  she  wondered  at  the  lengths  to 
which  her  imagination  had  carried  her. 
Still,  she  was  sure  that  something  unfore- 
seen and  terrible  must  have  occurred  to 
prevent  her  brother's  coming,  not  realis- 
ing, in  her  ignorance  of  the  world  and  its 
demands,  that  many  things,  not  in  them- 
selves serious,  might  intervene  between 
the  making  and  keeping  of  an  appoint- 
ment. 

"  Naukoska,"  she  asked  the  old  gate- 
keeper as  she  had  many  times  before, 
"  where  is  my  father's  home  ?  " 

And  old  Naukoska  would  answer : 
"  There  is  a  strip  of  forest  and  beyond 
lies  the  Indian  village  and  still  beyond 
that,  is  thy  father's  home." 

This  time  he  did  not  reply.     Turning, 


30  A  Georgian  Actress 

she  saw  him  nodding  with  sleep,  for  he 
was  very  old.  She  glanced  at  the  upper 
right-hand  wing  of  the  castle  where 
showed  a  patch  of  orange.  Through  the 
window  came  faintly  the  sweet  sound  of 
Ann's  spinet.  Madame  Van  Vrankin's 
room  she  could  not  see,  but  she  knew  she 
was  there,  spending  her  evening  in  soli- 
tude as  was  her  custom. 

Old  Naukoska,  waking,  found  his  com- 
panion gone.  Doubting  not  that  she  had 
returned  to  the  castle,  he  laboriously 
closed  the  heavy  gate,  then,  reseating 
himself,  puffed  at  the  dying  coal  in  his 
pipe. 

Meanwhile,  Peggy  followed  fearlessly 
the  forest  path  old  Naukoska  had  so 
often  pointed  out  to  her.  She  heard  the 
hooting  of  Ohowa,  the  owl. 

"  Whoo,  whoo,"  she  mocked,  "  are  your 
big  eyes  watching  where  I  go,  Ohowa  ? " 

Far  above  her  the  big  trees  clashed 
their  branches  as  Owera,  the  wind,  passed 
over  them. 

"  I  have  heard  the  tale  you  whispered 
to  the  trees  to-night,  Owera,"  she  said. 


A  Georgian  Actress  31 

Presently  she  crossed  the  little  stream 
and  soon  came  to  the  Indian  village. 
She  made  a  half-circuit  around  it  to  avoid 
being  seen  and  perhaps  delayed.  She 
noted  that  only  the  squaws  and  children 
were  to  be  seen  encircling  the  fires  in 
front  of  the  wigwams,  and  so  judged  that 
the  warriors  were  on  a  long  hunt.  Naked 
children  played  with  their  dogs.  A  hand- 
some young  squaw,  her  face  gay  with 
paint,  her  wild  black  hair  falling  on  her 
shoulders,  appeared  to  be  relating  a  story 
to  a  group  of  women. 

As  Peggy  passed  by  a  corn  field,  she 
was  startled  by  a  shrivelled  old  crone, 
who  stepped  across  her  path  from  out 
the  rustling  stalks.  The  little  maid  shud- 
dered, for  she  judged  her  to  be  the  old 
woman  of  whom  Naukoska  had  told  her, 
and  who,  before  death  entered  a  wigwam, 
was  always  to  be  seen  sitting  at  the  door- 
way just  at  twilight. 

Beyond  the  village,  facing  the  county 
highway,  Johnson  Hall,  built  of  gray 
stone,  loomed  up  in  solitary  grandeur. 
The  entrance  doors  were  flung  wide,  and 


32  A  Georgian  Actress 

a  strong  yellow  light,  dimmed  by  smoke, 
streamed  forth  from  the  interior. 

Peggy  quickened  her  steps  eagerly. 

Within,  her  father,  Sir  William  John- 
son, the  superintendent  of  Indian  affairs 
in  the  Mohawk  Valley,  was  entertaining 
the  warriors  of  the  Five  Nations  of  the 
Iroquois.  Over  five  hundred  were  now 
assembled  in  the  hall,  each  warrior  with 
his  pelts  beside  him  awaiting  his  turn  to 
trade  them.  These  assemblies  generally 
lasted  several  days,  and  during  this  time 
much  pleasure  as  well  as  business  was  in 
order.  Preparations  for  the  entertainment 
had  been  going  on  for  weeks.  The  negro 
servants,  although  knowing  that  the  In- 
dians despised  them  as  slaves,  were  more 
joyous  than  any  over  the  festivities,  and 
had  the  larder  well  stocked  with  their 
choicest  delicacies. 

Sir  William  Johnson,  in  honour  to  his 
guests,  wore  the  dress  of  a  Mohawk  chief, 
even  to  the  detail  of  exchanging  his  pow- 
dered wig  for  one  made  of  straggling  black 
hair.  Long  association  with  these  People 
of  the  Long  House,  as  the  tribes  living  in 


A  Georgian  Actress  33 

the  valley  were  called,  had  developed  in 
him  certain  like  characteristics.  He  was 
dignified  and  inclined  to  be  taciturn,  sober 
to  an  extent  bordering  on  melancholy. 
These  peculiarities  he  showed  chiefly  in 
dealing  with  the  Indians.  There  were  other 
occasions  when  his  love  of  humour  and 
good  living  broke  through  his  reserve  and 
he  seemed  what  he  had  been  born,  a 
hearty,  handsome  Irishman  of  the  mer- 
chant class,  who  had  by  his  own  efforts 
raised  himself  to  a  position  of  undisputed 
honour  and  responsibility.  George  III. 
had  granted  him  the  largest  tracts  of  land 
ever  accorded  to  a  private  person.  There 
in  the  forest  wilds,  he,  at  once  pros- 
perous trader  and  undisputed  sovereign, 
entertained  with  splendid  hospitality  the 
strangers  and  officers  whose  duties  led 
them  to  that  part  of  the  country. 

His  honourable  dealings  with  the  In- 
dians, and  his  protection  of  their  interests 
against  the  white  traders  who  were  ever 
quick  to  take  advantage  of  the  savages; 
his  wisdom  in  never  grasping  at  a  petty 
advantage,  although  never  failing  to  pro- 


34  A  Georgian  Actress 

mote  his  own  advancement ;  his  reserve 
on  ordinary  occasions  and  his  fiery  elo- 
quence when  the  time  was  ripe  for  speech  ; 
his  great  bravery  and  self-control  match- 
ing their  own,  combined  to  give  him 
undisputed  sway  over  them. 

To-night  he  sat  in  a  chair  on  a  platform 
that  ran  across  the  back  of  the  long  hall. 
He  smoked  a  long  Indian  pipe  as  he 
bargained  with  the  warriors.  To  his 
right  were  flung  the  purchased  skins,  and 
on  his  left  were  piles  of  gay  calicoes, 
beads,  bright-hued  blankets,  buttons,  and 
various  attractive  trinkets. 

On  this  same  platform  three  British 
officers  and  a  Dutch  hunter,  from  the 
little  town  of  Albany,  with  their  pipes  and 
wine,  sat  around  a  small  table  playing 
cards.  The  white  wigs  of  the  officers, 
their  scarlet  uniforms  trimmed  with  gold 
lace,  added  a  brilliant  touch  of  colour  to 
the  hall.  The  hunter's  dress,  with  its 
leathern  breeches,  its  worn  velvet  coat  of 
brown,  seemed  sober  enough  by  contrast. 
His  chestnut  hair,  waving  back  in  careless 
ringlets  from  his  forehead,  was  tied  at  the 


A  Georgian  Actress  35 

nape  of  the  neck  by  a  simple  black  rib- 
bon. His  bronzed,  youthful  countenance, 
animated  by  laughter,  afforded  a  pleasing 
comparison  with  the  rubicund  faces  of  his 
companions.  Heated  by  wine,  they  were 
begining  to  show  some  ill-nature  at  his 
continued  good  fortune  in  the  game. 

Seated  aloof  from  these,  Sir  John 
Johnson,  his  chair  tilted  back  against 
the  wall,  amused  himself  by  carving  a 
peach-stone. 

Over  five  hundred  Indians  sat  on  the 
floor.  As  they  smoked,  they  talked  to- 
gether or  gambled  with  cherry-stones. 
Here  and  there  among  them  were  small 
piles  of  pelts. 

Iron  lanterns  cast  their  light  over  the 
scene.  The  walls  of  the  lofty  hall  were 
panelled  with  wood,  and  the  high  rafters, 
blackened  by  smoke,  showed  but  dimly. 

An  oath  rang  out,  followed  by  the  tip- 
ping over  of  the  table  and  a  scattering  of 
the  cards.  Two  of  the  players  had  sprung 
to  their  feet.  They  were  the  hunter  and 
the  eldest  officer.  The  latter,  a  short,  cor- 
pulent man,  his  full  face  purple  with 


36  A  Georgian  Actress 

wrath,  let  forth  a  volley  of  oaths  which 
the  Dutchman,  fiery-eyed,  and  pale  with 
anger,  answered  by  a  contemptuous  shrug. 

The  officer,  brandishing  a  card,  was 
about  to  speak  again,  when  the  covert 
laughter  of  his  two  comrades  at  his 
drunken  folly  made  him  start  to  turn  in 
wrath  on  them. 

His  glance  fell  on  a  sight  so  surprising 
that,  half-turned  around,  he  stood  still, 
staring  open-mouthed.  The  others  fol- 
lowed the  direction  of  his  glance. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  hall,  on  the 
threshold  of  the  entrance,  stood  a  little 
maid.  Her  yellow  hair  fell  in  a  long  and 
shining  braid ;  her  flowered  chintz  gown 
parted  in  front  over  a  bright  green  silk 
petticoat.  Her  smiling,  rosy  face  hovered 
like  a  flower  above  the  dusky  faces  of  the 
lounging  Indians.  She  threaded  her  way 
through  them,  her  tender  and  satisfied 
gaze  fixed  on  Sir  John. 

"  Kaweewee  (little  girl  papoose),"  grunt- 
ed the  Indians. 

Her  brother  started  on  seeing  her,  but 
quickly  regained  his  nonchalant  attitude, 


A  Georgian  Actress  37 

his  surprise  revealed  only  in  the  brighten- 
ing of  his  listless  eyes. 

Sir  William  did  not  see  his  daughter 
until  she  reached  the  platform.  He  stared 
at  her,  while  through  his  mind  rushed 
various  conjectures  as  to  the  cause  that 
brought  her.  His  unreasoning  alarm 
failed  to  argue  that  such  a  serene  counte- 
nance boded  little  need  for  anxiety.  Was 
his  daughters'  preceptress  ill,  dying?  Had 
anything  happened  to  Ann,  his  favourite  ? 
But  then  why  had  not  one  of  the  slaves 
been  sent? 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  he  asked, 
sternly.  "  Who  brought  you  ?  Where 
is  Ann?" 

"  I  came  alone,"  answered  she.  "  I  came 
away  while  old  Naukoska  slept,  and  nei- 
ther Madame  nor  Ann  knows  that  I  am 
here."  She  stepped  upon  the  platform. 

He  seized  her  arm  roughly.  His  well- 
trained  features  betrayed  none  of  the 
angry  amazement  that  filled  his  breast. 

This  fair  little  girl,  the  image  of  her 
low-born,  unhappy  young  mother,  had 
never  won  his  love.  Even  as  a  very 


38  A  Georgian  Actress 

young  child  her  gaze  had  disconcerted 
and  repelled  him.  He,  who  ruled  the 
untamable  Indians,  here  felt  himself  de- 
feated and  set  at  naught.  Peggy  neither 
feared  her  father  nor  evinced  the  slight- 
est concern  in  his  presence.  Now  silently 
obstinate,  she  struggled  to  free  herself 
from  his  grasp. 

With  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  a 
disheartening  conviction  of  the  lack  of 
affection  between  him  and  his  youngest 
daughter,  he  let  her  go. 

She  passed  the  card-players  whose 
quarrel  had  been  forgotten  in  interest  at 
her  appearance,  and  went  over  to  Sir 
John. 

"  I  waited  for  you  and  you  did  not 
come,"  she  said,  and  so  stood  smiling  at 
him  in  great  content. 

A  perverse  and  teasing  strain,  that  often 
betrayed  him  into  a  cruelty  he  did  not 
originally  intend,  now  showed  itself  in  Sir 
John.  He  affected  not  to  know  her. 

"  What  sent  you  here  ?  "  repeated  Sir 
William,  with  freshly  rising  anger. 

She  ignored  his  question,  still  smiling 


A  Georgian  Actress  39 

at  her  brother,  whose  treatment  she  did 
not  yet  comprehend. 

"  I  grew  fearful  for  your  safety,"  spoke 
she,  sweetly,  "  and  so  I  came." 

Every  line  of  her  square  little  figure 
expressed  an  invincible  obstinacy  to  her 
father.  He  could  not  disassociate  her 
from  her  mother.  For  the  moment  he 
felt  as  if  his  young  Dutch  wife,  whose  life 
had  flickered  out  at  the  birth  of  this  last 
child,  had  returned  to  defy  him  and 
reassert  herself  threefold  for  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  past.  He  put  his  hand  to  his 
eyes.  He  felt  unsteady.  His  self-control 
was  deserting  him.  He  became  conscious 
of  the  laughter  of  the  officers,  and  doubted 
not  that  grim  amusement  lurked  behind 
the  masks  of  dusky  gravity  the  warriors 
wore. 

He  rose,  and,  stepping  forward,  seized 
his  daughter  by  the  shoulder  and  turned 
her  squarely  around. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  never  softening  her 
name  by  the  fond  diminutive  Madame 
had  accorded  it,  "  if  you  can  give  me  no 
good  reason  for  your  presence  here,  go  at 


40  A  Georgian  Actress 

once  and  return  the  way  you  came.  Do 
not  mistake  me,"  he  added,  menacingly, 
"  I  shall  see  that  you  are  properly  pun- 
ished for  this  folly." 

She  struggled  to  get  back  to  her 
brother. 

"John,"  asked  his  father,  now  thor- 
oughly baffled,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"I,"  he  answered,  still  perversely  bent  on 
tormenting  the  little  maid,  "  how  can  I 
tell  ?  Doubtless  she  heard  of  my  return 
from  abroad  and  ran  to  see  if  'twere  true 
that  I  was  so  marvellous  fascinating. 
Well,  well,  so  this  is  one  of  my  sisters. 
She  does  not  favour  you." 

He  laughed  up  into  his  father's  face. 

Sir  William  softened.  This  son  was  as 
the  apple  of  his  eye.  He  laid  his  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  "  Well,  John,  you  have 
yet  to  see  Ann,  but  for  that  matter  it  will 
not  be  when  you  please  or  when  I 
please." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  know  all  about 
you,"  spoke  Peggy,  in  a  high,  clear  tone, 
"  you  are  not  like  Ann." 


A  Georgian  Actress  41 

Sir  John  laughed  again,  flushing  slightly. 
He  was  beginning  to  be  ashamed  of  him- 
self. Still  he  would  be  perverse  to  the 
end.  His  amused  glance  seemed  to  ask 
his  father :  "  What  little  firebrand  have 
we  here  ? " 

Peggy  turned  away,  and  her  gaze  swept 
the  dusky  faces  before  her.  She  was  not 
frightened,  but  she  had  a  strange  flutter- 
ing in  her  breast,  and  was  too  simple  a  child 
to  know  that  the  emotion  she  felt  was  a 
realisation  of  her  utter  friendlessness  in 
that  great  hall. 

She  heard  the  laughter  of  the  officers 
and  she  stared  at  them  in  innocent  wonder. 

"  Here,  my  little  girl,"  said  the  young 
Dutchman,  kindly,  holding  out  to  her  a 
handful  of  cracked  butternuts  that  he  hap- 
pened to  have  in  his  coat  pocket. 

She  took  them  and  slipped  them  into 
the  silken  reticule  of  her  petticoat.  She 
would  store  them  away  for  her  squirrels 
to  eat  in  the  winter.  Then  her  composure 
gave  way.  Her  small  mouth  quivered. 
The  tears  rolled  down  her  face. 

"  Take   me    back    to    Ann,"  she    said. 


42  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  I  think  —  I  think  —  I  think  she  misses 
me,  and  I  have  been  so  long  away." 

"  There,  there,"  he  said,  hastily,  "  there, 
don't  cry.  You'll  soon  be  home."  He 
picked  his  hat  and  gun  up  from  the  floor. 
He  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the 
domestic  affairs  of  his  host  to  know  where 
she  lived. 

"  I  will  take  her  back,"  he  said. 

Sir  William  gave  a  grim  nod  of  assent. 
He  liked  the  hunter  cordially,  and  of  late 
had  taken  him  into  his  confidence  in 
regard  to  his  policy  with  the  Indians.  As 
he  was  about  to  cross  back  to  his  seat  a 
merry  thought  struck  him  and  he  paused 
and  clapped  the  young  man  heartily  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  Ha,  ha,  my  dear  Claus,"  he  shouted, 
"  I  wonder  what  she'll  say  to  your  inva- 
sion ?  I've  a  mind  to  send  John,  only  —  " 
He  stopped,  scowling. 

"Come,"  said  the  young  Dutchman, 
taking  Peggy's  hand. 

Thus  defeated  and  hurt,  she  left  the 
hall. 

The    officers    collected    the    scattered 


A  Georgian  Actress  43 

cards,  and  between  wine  and  deals  gos- 
siped of  Sir  William. 

"And  'pon  my  word,"  said  he  who 
professed  most  knowledge,  "  they  have  it 
about  the  town  that  he  has  kept  his  two 
daughters  shut  up  all  their  lives  like  prin- 
cesses in  a  tower.  Some  have  it  that  they 
are  blind ;  others,  that  the  oldest  is  de- 
formed. But  there  is  something  wrong 
somewhere.  As  for  Madame  Van  Vran- 
kin,  we  know  "  —  He  tapped  his  forehead 
significantly.  "  Poor  Van  Vrankin,  he 
was  a  good  fellow.  Here's  a  toast  to  his 
memory  ! " 

All  the  remainder  of  the  evening  Sir 
William  felt  a  sting  of  annoyance  that  one 
of  his  daughters  should  have  beheld  him 
in  his  Mohawk  costume.  Although  he 
dressed  thus  commonly  among  the  Indians, 
yet  he  never  called  at  the  castle  save  when 
attired  as  an  English  gentleman  of  rank. 
He  had  exhibited  a  curious  vanity  in  this 
respect. 

Some  time  later  Sir  John  rose  and 
silently  left  the  hall.  Once  without,  he 
stood  several  moments  looking  in  the 


44  A  Georgian  Actress 

direction  his  sister  and  her  escort  had 
probably  taken.  He  drew  out  his  watch. 
It  was  still  early.  So  he  went  around  to 
the  stable,  and,  having  ordered  his  horse 
saddled,  he  mounted  and  set  out  for  the 
little  town  of  Albany,  there  to  spend  an 
evening  in  good  company  at  the  tavern. 


Chapter    III 

THE  wind  had  died  down;  the  still 
air  was  brilliant  with  the  light  of 
the  young  moon  and  stars.     The  trunks 
of  the  trees  and  the  ground  were  white 
with  frost. 

As  Mr.  Claus  suited  his  swinging  stride 
to  his  companion's  little  steps,  he  sought 
to  engage  her  in  conversation.  But  silent, 
almost  taciturn  in  her  unhappiness,  she 
would  not  reply.  They  met  no  one  as 
they  passed  through  the  Indian  village. 
The  women  and  children  had  retired  into 
the  wigwams  for  the  night.  Now  and 
then  some  portion  of  the  scene  was  vividly 
lighted  by  a  leaping  tongue  of  flame  from 
a  dying  fire.  Several  dogs  followed  the 
two  some  distance,  barking  at  their  heels. 
After  crossing  the  stream,  over  two  miles 
of  forest  road  still  intervened  between 
them  and  the  castle.  Suddenly,  with  a 

45 


46  A  Georgian  Actress 

whispered  hush,  he  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  drew  her  down  beside  him. 

The  hazelnut-bushes  just  ahead  rustled 
with  the  presence  of  some  creature.  The 
quivering  leaves  had  not  yet  lost  all 
colour  and  showed  silver-green  beneath  a 
mystic  veil  of  frost  and  moonlight.  In 
the  moment's  intensity  the  sharp  noise  of 
snapping  twigs  sounded  loud.  From  out 
the  thicket  a  deer  stepped  slowly  and  ma- 
jestically forth.  It  stood  still  in  the  centre 
of  the  forest  road,  its  beautiful  antlered 
head  raised,  snuffing  the  air. 

Peggy  heard  a  sigh  of  joy  so  deep  as  to 
be  almost  a  groan  at  her  side,  and  then 
the  report  of  a  musket.  The  shock 
dazed  her.  When  the  smoke  cleared 
away  she  saw  Mr.  Claus  bending  over 
the  fallen  deer. 

"  See,  Mistress  Johnson,"  he  cried, 
exulting,  "  how  is  this  for  luck  ?  I  will 
carry  it  with  us  to  the  castle  that  they 
may  not  say  you  came  home  empty- 
handed." 

But  she  had  no  word  of  congratulation 
for  him,  so  deeply  pity  for  the  deer  filled 


A  Georgian  Actress  47 

her  breast.  She  stroked  the  graceful 
head,  and  bent  and  laid  her  own  cheek 
against  it,  then  stood  up  sobbing. 

Her  companion  was  touched  with  sym- 
pathy. He  knelt  on  the  road  in  front  of 
her,  and  wiped  away  her  fast  rolling  tears 
with  the  hem  of  her  petticoat,  not  having 
his  own  kerchief  convenient. 

"  Poor  little  one,"  he  said,  "  poor  little 
one,"  for  he  judged  her  tears  flowed  be- 
cause of  a  wounded  affection  as  well  as  on 
account  of  the  deer.  He  felt  revive  the 
anger  he  had  experienced  earlier  in  the 
evening  toward  her  brother.  "  For  I 
doubt  not,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that 
some  prank  of  his  is  at  the  root  of  this 
matter." 

Peggy  had  been  too  absorbed  in  her  un- 
happiness  to  take  much  note  of  her  escort 
until  now.  But  as  he  knelt  in  front  of 
her,  and  she  met  his  pleasant  smile,  his 
bright,  kind  eyes,  and  remembered  the 
handful  of  nuts  he  had  given  her,  a  deep 
gratitude  took  possession  of  her. 

"  I  wept  for  the  poor  deer,"  she  said, 
gently,  "  but  I  am  not  angry  with  you. 


48  A  Georgian  Actress 

Was  not  Naukoska  a  great  hunter,  too  ? 
Has  he  not  told  me  that  a  man  who 
could  not  kill  had  a  woman's  heart  ? 
But  I  desire  not  again  to  see  anything 
killed." 

He  slung  the  deer  across  his  shoulders 
and  they  went  on.  She  sobbed  a  little  at 
intervals,  as  she  trudged  along  at  his  side. 
Soon  he  noticed  that  she  was  stumbling 
from  weariness.  They  were  nearly  home 
now  and  he  was  ashamed  at  not  having 
perceived  her  exhaustion  before.  He 
laid  down  his  burden  and,  picking  her 
up  lightly  in  his  strong  arms,  carried  her 
the  rest  of  the  way.  Then  he  went  back 
for  the  deer. 

"  Naukoska,  open  the  gate,"  she  cried, 
pounding  on  it  with  both  hands,  "  Nau- 
koska, it  is  I,  thy  little  daughter  of  the 
Singing  Trees,  come  back  to  thee  from 
out  the  world." 

It  was  some  time  before  he  heard,  and 
then  he  opened  the  gate  with  guttural 
exclamations  of  astonishment.  But  when 
he  beheld  the  stalwart  figure  of  the  young 
man  returning  with  the  deer,  the  joy  of 


A  Georgian  Actress  49 

the  hunter  took  possession  of  the  old  man 
and  fired  his  thin  blood  with  memories  of 
his  own  youth. 

"  Come,"  cried  Peggy,  dragging  at  Mr. 
Claus's  arm,  "  give  the  deer  to  Naukoska. 
Come,  I  will  take  you  to  Ann.  She  is 
in  the  room  above,  where  the  light 
burns." 

The  stories  he  had  heard  of  the  place 
had  stirred  his  imagination  and  he  tread 
expectantly,  as  in  an  enchanted  castle. 

Was  it  curiosity  in  regard  to  Sir  Wil- 
liam's domestic  affairs  that  had  set  his 
blood  tingling  ?  He  knew  well,  however, 
that  up  to  this  moment  he  had  been 
actuated  only  by  sympathy  for  his  little 
companion. 

The  massive  front  door  was  unlocked 
and  yielded  to  Peggy's  touch. 

He  stepped  into  a  hall  that  appeared 
to  run  through  the  centre  of  the  house 
from  front  to  back.  Wax  tapers  held 
by  figures  on  the  newel-posts  of  the  wide 
stairway,  lighted  the  place  dimly.  His 
guide  moved  up  the  stairs  at  his  side. 
When  they  reached  the  landing  she  turned 


50  A  Georgian  Actress 

and  went  some  distance  down  the  corridor 
toward  the  front  of  the  house,  and  opened 
a  door. 

"  Ann,"  she  called. 

His  astonished  gaze  observed  first  an 
open  book  lying  beside  a  candle  on  the 
polished  top  of  a  harpsichord.  His  eyes 
followed  the  light  of  the  candle,  which 
seemed  to  concentrate  upon  and  pursue 
a  solitary  girlish  figure  with  flying  braids 
of  hair,  that  appeared  to  be  following  the 
motions  of  a  dance.  Now  gravely  step- 
ping forward,  then  back,  anon  courtesying 
to  the  floor,  she  moved  with  a  grace  which 
breathed  the  absent  melody. 

"  Ann,"  repeated  Peggy,  "  I  have 
brought  you  one  from  the  world." 

The  dancer  paused.  "  One  from  the 
world,"  she  repeated,  wonderingly.  Then 
she  saw  the  stalwart  stranger  on  the  thresh- 
old and  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Sir  William  sent  me  home  with  your 
sister,"  he  said,  embarrassed  and  hastening 
to  explain  his  presence  there. 

"  Alas!"  cried  Peggy,  "  I  have  had  most 
sorrowful  experience  of  the  world." 


A  Georgian  Actress 


"  Oh,  where  have  you  been  ?  "  cried  Ann. 
"  Oh,  why  did  you  not  ask  me  to  go  with 
you  ? "  She  appealed  to  the  stranger. 
"  Where  has  she  been  ?  " 

"  She  came  to  the  Hall,"  he  answered, 
"  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  your  father 
was  so  angered  he  would  not  let  her 
stay." 

"  I  know,"  sighed  Ann,  "  Madame 
grieves  that  he  loves  Peggy  so  little. 
But  why  did  she  not  ask  me  to  go  ?  " 

His  hands,  clasping  his  soft  hat,  rested 
on  the  top  of  his  gun,  which  he  had 
planted  on  the  floor.  From  his  splendid 
height  he  looked  down  upon  her,  listen- 
ing to  her  words. 

She  glanced  helplessly  around  for  her 
sister.  But  Peggy  had  disappeared.  With 
an  effort  she  raised  her  shy  eyes  to  his, 
feeling  that,  in  the  absence  of  Madame, 
the  hospitality  of  the  castle  devolved  on 
her. 

"  I  dance,"  said  she,  "  that  1  may  not 
be  lacking  in  genteel  accomplishments 
when  I  go  forth  into  the  world." 

He  smiled,  shy  as  herself.     But  she, 


52  A  Georgian  Actress 

encouraged  by  that  smile,  ventured  to 
continue.  "  At  this  hour,  Madame,  my 
preceptress,  retires  to  her  room  until  it  is 
time  for  prayers.  Thus  I  find  an  oppor- 
tunity to  teach  myself  the  art  of  dancing." 
She  indicated  by  a  gesture  the  open  book. 
"  I  do  not  think  the  instruction  I  have 
is  very  good.  Perchance,"  the  eagerness 
of  her  desire  shining  in  her  eyes,  "  you 
will  tell  me  if  I  step  correctly." 

"  I  do  not  dance,"  he  replied. 

"  I  thought  all  in  the  world  danced," 
she  cried. 

"We  all  dance  to  different  tunes,"  he 
laughed,  recovering  from  his  embarrass- 
ment, "  and  fate  is  the  piper." 

Ann  smiled  vaguely,  not  quite  under- 
standing him.  "  Have  you  been  lately 
to  London  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  never  been  there,"  he  said, 
and  saw  that  she  was  much  disappointed 
by  his  answer.  He  heard  a  step  behind 
him  and  turned.  Madame  Van  Vrankin 
was  coming  slowly  toward  them  down  the 
hall. 

"  Here  is  some  one  to  see  us  at  last,  dear 


A  Georgian  Actress  53 

Madame,"  cried  Ann,  happily,  forgetting 
her  momentary  disappointment  in  their 
guest's  accomplishments. 

Madame  returned  the  young  man's  bow 
in  silent,  cold  surprise. 

He  hastened  to  explain  his  presence. 

She  listened  attentively.  Nothing  of 
what  she  might  have  felt  on  hearing  of 
Peggy's  unprecedented  proceeding,  neither 
curiosity  nor  astonishment,  showed  in  her 
expression.  But  when  he  mentioned  Sir 
William's  keen  annoyance,  a  shadowy  smile 
quivered  on  her  lips.  Encouraged  by  the 
fact  that  one  so  pale  and  cold  could  smile 
even  thus  faintly,  he  spoke  with  youthful 
ardour  of  her  husband. 

"  Madame  Van  Vrankin,"  he  said,  "  I 
am  honoured  to  meet  you,  for  I  have 
always  heard  much  of  the  brave  man 
whose  name  you  bear.  They  say  in 
Albany  to  this  day  that  there  never  was  a 
soldier  at  once  more  modest  and  brave.  He 
was  ever  the  last  to  admit  his  own  valour. 
Why,  when  we  young  men  in  Albany 
were  little  fellows,  the  very  name  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant  Van  Vrankin  was  enough  to 


54  A  Georgian  Actress 

set  us  all  on  fire  with  enthusiasm.  Chil- 
dren have  great  ambitions,  Madame." 

"Yes,  that  is  what  you  ever  say,  Ma- 
dame," put  in  Ann,  "  and  you  call  me 
foolish  whene'er  I  tell  you  my  plans." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Madame, 
ignoring  Ann's  remark,  "  it  is  long  since 
I  have  even  heard  my  husband's  name 
spoken.  Are  you  then  from  Albany  ?  I 
wonder  if  I  knew  your  family." 

"  My  name  is  Claus,"  he  answered. 

She  nodded.  "  You  must  have  been  a 
very  young  child  when  I  knew  your 
mother.  She  had  quite  a  family." 

"  She  and  my  father  are  both  dead 
these  many  years,"  he  answered,  "  and  we 
children  are  scattered.  I  am  the  only 
one  left  in  Albany." 

"  I  have  never  been  in  Albany,"  said 
Ann,  wistfully. 

"  It  is  not  far,"  he  said.  He  felt  that  he 
should  be  going,  and  bent  a  look  on  her 
that  startled  her.  For  at  the  thought  of 
leaving,  a  new-born  grief  woke  in  his  breast. 
He  felt  that  he  was  living  a  dream,  and 
that  he  should  never  see  her  again. 


A  Georgian  Actress  55 

"The  lights  have  been  extinguished  in 
the  hall  below,"  spoke  Madame  Van 
Vrankin,  and  even  in  this  moment  of 
abstraction  he  was  conscious  of  the  pe- 
culiar charm  of  her  voice.  It  was  not 
cold  and  monotonous,  as  might  have  been 
expected  from  her  personality,  but  musi- 
cal, and  possessing  a  plaintively  sweet 
intonation.  "  Ann,  give  me  a  candle,  that 
I  may  show  Mr.  Claus  down." 

"  Do  not  let  me  trouble  you,"  he  said, 
more  wounded  than  offended  at  his  dismis- 
sal. "  I  can  let  myself  out,  and  if  there  is 
some  one  at  the  door  to  lock  it  after  me,  it 
may  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  go  down." 

"This  way,  if  you  please,"  she  said, 
taking  the  candle  from  Ann,  and  preced- 
ing him. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairway,  Mr.  Claus 
paused  to  look  once  more  at  Ann.  Her 
face  was  partly  in  shadow,  but  the  light 
from  the  room  back  of  her  fell  on  her 
beautiful  dark  head,  the  white  hand  hang- 
ing at  her  side,  the  rich  gleam  of  her 
green  silk  petticoat,  and  for  the  first  time 
he  noted  that  the  two  girls  were  dressed 


56  A  Georgian  Actress 

exactly  alike.  He  could  not  see  her  ex- 
pression, but  the  wistful  droop  of  her 
head  as  she  leant  against  the  casement  of 
the  door  made  him  realise  how  lonely  her 
life  must  be,  that  she  should  regret  the 
going  of  an  entire  stranger. 

Madame  Van  Vrankin  did  not  lead  the 
way  to  the  front  door.  Instead,  she 
ushered  him  into  a  large  room  on  the  left. 
Placing  the  candle  on  a  table  of  such  sub- 
stantial size  that  he  judged  the  apartment 
must  be  a  dining-room,  she  motioned 
him  to  a  chair. 

"  I  brought  you  here,  sir,"  she  ex- 
plained, "  that  I  might  offer  you  that 
hospitality  which,  I  trust,  none  will  ever 
enter  a  roof  under  which  I  abide  without 
receiving." 

Outside  the  circle  of  light,  flung  by  the 
candle,  he  could  see  nothing.  Madame's 
black-robed  figure  was  not  distinguishable 
in  the  darkness  as  she  moved  about  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  room.  He  heard 
the  clink  of  glass. 

"  You  will  have  some  fruit-cake,  sir  ?  " 
she  asked. 


A  Georgian  Actress  57 

Now  that  he  could  not  see  her  face,  the 
charming  voice,  so  fresh  and  melodious, 
seemed  naturally  to  belong  to  a  young 
woman.  Strangely  affected,  he  answered, 
simply,  "  You  are  very  kind,  Madame." 

She  set  a  decanter  of  wine  and  glasses  on 
the  table,  a  napkin,  a  plate  containing  cake, 
and  a  silver  dish  of  red  apples,  highly  pol- 
ished. She  sat  down  at  the  side  of  the 
table  opposite  him  and  took  the  glass  of 
wine  he  poured  out  and  passed  to  her. 

"It  has  been  my  experience,  sir,"  she 
said,  "  that  in  matters  where  the  future 
holds  a  probability  that  you  may  put 
yourself  in  opposition  to  any  one,  it  is 
best  to  have  the  relations  and  stand  you 
will  maintain  perfectly  frank  with  that 
person  from  the  beginning.  May  I  ask  if 
you  are  unmarried  ?  " 

An  hour  ago  he  would  have  replied 
without  embarrassment.  Now  his  cheek 
reddened.  He  nodded. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  frame  my 
words  most  fitly,"  she  continued,  slowly, 
"  and  not  to  offend  you.  Yet  I  trust  you 
will  meet  me  generously  and  believe  that 


58  A  Georgian  Actress 

my  interest  is  solely  for  another  person 
and  not  myself.  It  is  difficult  to  speak 
at  all  upon  a  subject  as  delicate  as  the  one 
I  have  in  mind,  and  I  am  perplexed  as  to 
the  wisdom  of  saying  anything.  Still,  I 
will  proceed.  Peggy,  whom  you  brought 
home  to-night,  is  still  a  child  in  thought. 
Not  so  her  sister,  or  you  would  be  wel- 
come here  at  the  castle.  It  is  owing  to 
this  that  I  take  upon  myself  the  painful 
and  inhospitable  duty  of  requesting  you 
that,  as  this  is  your  first  visit  here,  it 
may  also  be  your  last." 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  face.  He 
felt  outraged,  humiliated,  and,  for  the 
moment,  could  only  believe  that  his  host- 
ess did  not  consider  his  escort  of  her 
youngest  ward  other  than  a  pretext, 
on  his  part,  that  he  might  force  his 
presence  on  them.  He  would  have  risen 
and  left  at  once,  had  not  the  action  seemed 
childish.  The  bit  of  cake  he  had  eaten 
choked  him.  And  then  he  looked  up 
and  saw  that  a  delicate  pink  flush  had 
risen  to  Madame's  pale  face,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  very  gentle  and  sympathetic. 


A  Georgian  Actress  59 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  hear  me  to  the 
end,"  she  said.  "  I  have  striven  since 
their  mother's  death  to  raise  Sir  William's 
daughters  in  solitude,  and,  until  to-night,  I 
have  been  successful.  It  had  been  my 
hope,  in  thus  shutting  out  all  worldly 
things,  to  turn  their  thoughts,  their  every 
desire,  to  God;  and  when  the  time  grew 
ripe  for  them  to  go  forth  into  the  world, 
I  had  prayed  it  might  be  as  servants  of 
the  Lord,  doing  the  work  of  the  Church 
among  the  Indians.  In  so  rearing  them 
I  desired  to  offer  a  pure  and  living  sacri- 
fice to  a  world  my  life  had  done  nothing 
toward  making  better.  And  I  have  failed. 
I  have  failed  absolutely.  Ann,  for  whom 
I  have  most  prayed,  whom,  if  possible,  I 
have  most  carefully  guarded,  lives  in  a 
world  of  her  own,  to  the  entrance  of 
which  I  hold  not  the  key.  The  loneli- 
ness, the  well-nigh  impenetrable  forest 
with  which  I  have  surrounded  her,  fails  to 
confine  her.  Her  imagination,  unfortu- 
nate as  it  is  beautiful,  knows  no  solitude, 
and,  as  a  ray  of  sunlight  slips  through  the 
forest,  so  does  she  evade  all  the  barriers 


60  A  Georgian  Actress 

I  have  builded.  As  for  Peggy,  the 
child  you  brought  home  to-night — " 
She  paused,  her  expression  grew  austere. 
"  Sir,"  she  continued,  "  she  has  made  a 
mockery  of  my  teachings,  and  is  a  pagan, 
pure  and  simple,  without  hope  of  change. 
In  the  murmuring  of  the  pines  she  hears 
not  the  word  of  God,  as  I  have  taught 
her,  but  an  Indian  legend  she  has  learned. 
As  fluently  as  her  own,  she  speaks  the 
tongue  of  this  heathen  people.  To  live 
close  to  the  earth,  to  have  her  freedom 
and  her  curious  pets,  is  all  she  desires. 
She  is  like  any  other  simple  forest  crea- 
ture, with  more  intelligence,  that  is  all. 
Now  that  God's  will  in  them  has  shown 
otherwise  than  I,  in  my  pitiful  attempt, 
would  have  moulded  them,  I  have  prayed 
that  happiness  may  come  to  Ann.  Her 
nature  is  tender  and  generous,  ever  alive 
to  the  suffering  of  others,  quick  to  repent 
and  acknowledge  her  fault  if  she  does 
wrong.  But  as  for  Peggy,  I  trust  that 
her  soul  will  be  awakened,  even  though 
it  must  be  through  the  bitter  medium 
of  pain  and  anguish." 


A  Georgian  Actress  61 

Respecting  her  emotion  no  less  than  he 
rebelled  against  her  precepts,  her  listener 
made  no  comment  when  she  paused. 

"And  now  to  come  to  the  matter  in 
hand,"  she  continued,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  one  which  I  have  not  reached  save  by 
going  around  Robin  Hood's  barn,  as 
they  say.  You,  sir,  are  a  bachelor,  and 
Ann  is  beautiful.  Ah,  sir,  I  know  this 
world  well.  It  may  be  that  you  will 
leave  here  to-night  and  the  thought  of 
her  never  enter  your  mind  any  more 
seriously  than  it  has  now.  And,  such  is 
the  irony  of  fate,  this  warning  of  mine 
may  be  first  to  rouse  in  you  the  desire  I 
dread.  Against  the  possibility  of  any 
relation  whatsoever,  I  must  protest.  My 
authority  here  is  lessening.  It  would  be 
a  simple  matter,  as  things  are  now,  for  you 
to  obtain  Sir  William's  consent  to  visit 
his  daughter.  He  has  already  expressed 
his  disapproval  of  their  continued  confine- 
ment. Therefore,  I  appeal  to  your  gen- 
erosity, sir." 

He  rose.  "  Madame,"  he  replied,  not 
without  a  certain  youthful  dignity,  "  I 


62  A  Georgian  Actress 

am  not  offended  by  what  you  have  said, 
and  I  will  not  come  again,  yet  I  cannot  help 
but  agree  with  Sir  William,  that  such  con- 
tinued solitude  does  his  daughters  more 
harm  than  good." 

"  What  would  you  suggest  ?  "  she  asked, 
smiling  and  amused. 

"  They  should  meet  other  young 
people,  and  they  should  marry,"  he  said, 
stoutly. 

"Yes,"  she  rejoined,  with  a  touch  of 
malice,  "  but  marry  whom  ?  They  have 
not  been  brought  up  to  make  good  Dutch 
wives  for  Albany  settlers."  She  shrugged 
her  shoulders  slightly.  "  Ah,  sir,  to  what 
ridiculous  lengths  is  our  conversation 
leading  us  !  I  am  a  foolish  old  woman, 
and  will  have  it  that  none  can  set  eyes  on 
Ann  without  loving  her."  Her  eyes 
sparkled,  the  austerity  and  gravity  of  her 
former  manner  seemed  to  have  dropped 
like  a  mask  from  her.  The  abundant 
hair,  beneath  the  widow's  cap  she  wore, 
took  on  a  lustrous  gleam  to  his  astonished 
gaze.  He  felt  that  once  in  a  gay  world 
she  had  been  a  beauty  and  a  power.  She 


A  Georgian  Actress  63 

extended  her  hand  and  he  bowed  low 
over  it. 

"  I  hope  I  may  have  the  honour  of 
meeting  you  again,"  he  said,  gravely. 
His  high  spirits  of  a  moment  since  had 
died,  and  he  was  filled  with  sadness.  This 
woman,  at  once  so  admirable  and  brilliant, 
barred  his  way  to  seeing  again  her  to 
whose  loveliness  his  soul  had  gone  forth. 

She  went  to  the  door  with  him  and 
opened  it,  holding  the  candle  high  that  its 
light  might  fall  as  far  as  possible.  The 
clouds  had  met  again  and  a  light  snow  was 
falling.  The  ground  was  white. 

He  found  that  old  Naukoska  had  gone 
in  for  the  night. 

"  We  need  not  rouse  him,"  said  Ma- 
dame Van  Vrankin,  "  I  have  another  key 
here.  He  is  very  old,  nearly  a  century,  he 
says."  She  set  the  candle  down  in  the 
shelter  of  the  hall,  and,  unmindful  of  the 
weather,  followed  her  guest  to  the  gate. 
Once  on  the  road  without,  he  waited  until 
he  heard  the  key  turned  again  in  the 
lock. 

"  Good  night,"  he  called,  cheerily,  "  I 


64  A  Georgian  Actress 

shall  not  come  again  save  to  leave  a  string 
of  game  at  your  gate." 

"  Good  night,"  came  Madame's  voice 
from  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  "and 
may  the  blessing  of  God  go  with  you." 

Outside,  in  the  falling  snow,  the  young 
Dutchman  remained  standing  some  mo- 
ments looking  up  at  the  patch  of  orange 
light  in  the  right  wing  of  the  building. 
And  gradually  in  the  silence  he  became 
conscious  of  the  faint,  sweet  tinkle  of 
Ann's  spinet. 


Chapter  IV 

MADAME  went  back  into  the  house 
and  locked  the  door.  Half-way 
up  the  stairs  a  draught  sweeping  through 
the  hall  blew  out  the  candle.  She  con- 
tinued, however,  to  hold  the  taper  rigidly 
and  at  a  distance,  as  if  it  were  indeed  still 
lighted  and  there  were  danger  of  the  wax 
dripping  on  her.  As  she  reentered  the 
parlour,  Ann,  who  was  playing  her  spinet, 
rose  and  turned  on  her  stormily. 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  of  my 
brother?" 

Madame  sat  down  wearily.  Her  far- 
off  gaze  seemed  to  pass  beyond  the  girl. 

"  I  am  tired  of  always  living  here,"  cried 
Ann.  "Who  was  that  man  ?  And  Peggy  ! 
Oh,  you  should  know  how  sullen  she  acts  ! 
I  went  to  our  room  and  made  her  come 
back  here  where  it  is  warm  to  tell  me 
where  she  had  been.  But  all  the  time  you 

65 


66  A  Georgian  Actress 

were  gone  she  would  not  say  one  word 
to  me  save  that  she  had  gone  to  see 
her  brother.  Is  our  brother  like  that 
hunter  ? " 

Peggy  sat  in  a  chair,  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap.  Where  Ann  would  have 
scolded  and  wept  passionately,  she  was 
immovable.  But  there  was  unhappiness 
as  well  as  obstinacy  in  the  little  maid's 
face  which  Madame  did  not  fail  to  notice. 

"  Until  now,  Ann,"  she  said,  "  you 
were  content  without  knowledge  of  a 
brother."  She  pointed  to  Peggy.  "You 
see  the  fruits  of  disobedience.  Has  it 
brought  her  happiness  ?  " 

"  Then  I  have  a  brother,"  cried  Ann, 
all  gladness. 

"  That  hunter  was  not  our  brother," 
put  in  Peggy,  crossly,  catching  at  the  word. 

"  My  little  Ann,"  said  Madame,  "  you 
have  been  a  good  child  to  me.  Be  still 
obedient,  and  rest  satisfied  for  to-night. 
I  will  tell  you  more  to-morrow.  It  is  long 
past  the  hour  for  prayer,  but  neverthe- 
less the  servants  will  be  waiting.  Come, 
Peggy. " 


A  Georgian  Actress  67 

The  chapel  had  been  added  to  the  castle 
by  Madame  Van  Vrankin  herself.  A  cor- 
ridor, that  always  seemed  cold  and  full  of 
draughts  even  in  summer,  led  to  it  from 
the  main  hall.  Muffled  sounds  of  laugh- 
ter and  conversation  came  to  their  hearing. 

"They  are  still  in  the  kitchen,"  said 
Madame,  and.  smiled,  for  the  sounds  of 
good  cheer  pleased  her,  she  who  was  always 
so  friendly  to  the  humble.  She  went  on 
down  and  opened  the  door  leading  into 
the  kitchen.  The  negroes  and  several 
Christian  Indians  sat  around  the  open 
hearth  on  which  blazed  a  pile  of  large 
logs.  On  the  table  the  deer  lay  in  state. 
Old  Naukoska  sat  in  the  chimney-corner. 

"  Come,  my  children,"  she  said,  mildly, 
"  it  is  time  for  prayers." 

The  little  chapel  had  several  oak 
benches  and  a  stone  floor.  The  simple 
altar  was  always  covered  by  linen,  exquis- 
itely embroidered,  and  held  a  communion 
service  of  silver  that  had  never  been  used, 
for  no  clergyman  had  ever  been  invited  to 
visit  the  castle. 

Madame    made    the  service  short  this 


68  A  Georgian  Actress 

night.  The  chill  air  blew  around  them 
as  they  knelt  on  the  stone.  The  negroes 
chattered  with  the  cold.  Madame  shiv- 
ered so  that  her  trembling  hands  refused 
to  hold  the  book,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
lay  it  on  the  bench  in  front  of  which  she 
knelt. 

All  night  the  snow  fell.  Ann  and 
Peggy  slept  wrapped  close  in  each  other's 
arms  for  warmth.  Terunda  fluttered  in 
under  the  silk  coverlid.  When  they  woke 
in  the  morning,  it  was  to  behold  a  white 
world.  The  crimson  and  gold  hosts  of 
the  woods  had  been  vanquished. 

"  The  little  people  of  the  leaves  are 
gone,"  said  old  Naukoska. 

Flocks  of  birds  which  had  lingered  during 
the  warm  spell  flew  southward.  They  heard 
the  calling  of  the  belated  wild  geese.  The 
snow  continued  to  fall  for  a  week.  Then 
the  sun  shone  out  in  a  clear  blue  sky. 
The  valley  stretched  away  in  great  drifts 
of  snow,  the  dazzling  whiteness  broken 
by  the  sharp  black  lacework  of  the  leafless 
trees  and  the  dark  green  of  the  unchang- 
ing pines.  From  the  day  the  snow  ceased 


A  Georgian  Actress  69 

to  fall,  the  cold,  which  had  been  moderate 
up  to  that  time,  increased  steadily.  The 
waters  of  the  Mohawk  were  frozen  to  a 
greater  depth  than  had  been  known  for 
many  years.  So  hard  a  crust  formed  over 
the  snow  that  snow-shoes  were  not  used. 
And  always  was  heard  the  snapping  and 
crackling  sound  made  by  the  intense  cold. 

It  was  three  weeks  before  Sir  William 
visited  his  daughters.  He  came  in  a  sledge 
drawn  by  four  horses  over  the  frozen  river. 
Ann,  who  watched  for  him  every  afternoon, 
saw  him  coming  when  still  far  off,  and  ran 
to  tell  her  companions.  There  had  been 
no  need  for  any  of  the  household  to  go 
outside  this  weather,  and  so  the  snow  lay 
heaped  in  undisturbed  drifts  about  the 
castle.  Madame  Van  Vrankin  sent  the 
servants  to  clear  a  path  and  to  shovel 
the  snow  aside  that  the  gate  might  be 
opened. 

The  negroes,  though  the  greatest  suf- 
ferers in  the  cold  weather,  were  yet  glad  of 
a  frolic,  and,  bundling  themselves  to  the 
ears,  set  to  work  with  a  will.  The  Chris- 
tian Indians,  who  in  their  transitory  visits 


70  A  Georgian  Actress 

were  always  treated  as  guests,  watched 
the  slaves  haughtily,  and  did  not  attempt 
to  assist  them.  Only  around  the  kitchen 
fire,  when  tales  were  told,  did  they  un- 
bend to  talk.  The  two  young  girls 
watched  the  sport  from  the  drawing-room 
windows.  The  slaves  were  picturesque 
figures,  the  women  attired  in  bright  cali- 
coes and  cast-off  garments  of  their  mis- 
tresses, and  the  men  in  old  uniforms  and 
gay  coats  they  had  begged  from  visitors 
to  Johnson  Hall.  Their  ebony  faces, 
lighted  by  splendid  white  teeth,  shone 
with  joy.  All  cast  devoted  glances  to- 
ward the  upper  window,  and  tripped  one 
another  head  over  heels  in  the  snow  for 
the  benefit  of  the  two  wistful  spectators 
who  wished  they  might  join  in  the  fun 
without  loss  of  dignity. 

Ann  ran  down-stairs  to  meet  her  father 
at  the  door  when  he  arrived. 

"  Well,  Nancy,  are  you  glad  to  see 
me  ?  "  he  asked,  pinching  her  cheek. 

He  shook  the  snow  from  him.  His 
fresh  and  hearty  presence  brought  a  whiff 
of  winter  into  the  hall. 


A  Georgian  Actress  71 

"  How  cold  you  are!"  she  cried,  helping 
him  off  with  his  coat. 

"  Splendid  weather.  See  here,  Nancy," 
lowering  his  voice  mysteriously,  "  who 
sent  your  sister  to  the  hall  the  other 
night  ? "  He  gave  a  significant  upward 
jerk  of  his  thumb.  "  Did  she  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it  ? "  He  had  forgotten 
his  anger  toward  Peggy,  his  threat  to 
punish  her,  but  he  was  still  curious. 

"  Neither  of  us  knew  she  had  gone  until 
she  came  home  with  the  hunter,"  answered 
Ann. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  know,  I  didn't  know," 
he  said,  "  I  thought  she  sent  the  child  to 
torment  me.  I  tell  you,  Nancy,  your  sis- 
ter is  going  to  grow  up  into  an  uncanny 
woman." 

"  Father,"  said  she,  not  heeding  his 
remark,  and  putting  both  hands  on  his 
shoulders  to  gaze  up  into  his  face,  her 
expression  roguish  and  full  of  delight, 
"  you  never  told  us  that  we  had  a  brother 
who  is  most  comely  and  a  great  wit." 

He  laughed  jovially.  "Ay,  Nance, 
he's  a  shapely  fellow  and  has  a  pretty 


72  A  Georgian  Actress 

wit,  a  little  too  much  given  to  flirting  and 
drinking  as  yet,  but  he'll  sober  down  into 
a  brave  soldier  in  time." 

She  was  slightly  abashed  by  his  exceed- 
ing mirth.  He  chuckled  all  the  way 
up-stairs. 

"  Ha,  ha,  my  dear  Madame,"  he  cried, 
bursting  into  the  room,  Ann  clinging 
lovingly  to  his  arm,  "  so  the  cat  is  out 
of  the  bag.  A  very  good  jest  at  your 
expense,  hey  ? " 

Madame  Van  Vrankin  rose  and  curt- 
sied. "  You  do  not  mind  the  cold,  then  ? 
And  that,  in  spite  of  your  advancing 
years,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of  malice. 
"  I  scarce  looked  for  you  in  this  weather." 

He  glowered  at  her.  A  hale  and  hearty, 
if  no  longer  a  young  man,  he  considered 
himself  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  yet  he 
never  came  into  her  presence  without 
feeling  as  if  the  very  breath  of  death  and 
old  age  blew  cold  upon  him.  Once  in  his 
presence  she  had  engaged  in  a  conversation 
on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  with  Ann. 

He  had  interrupted  them,  his  full  face 
turning  purple  with  vexation.  "  Never 


A  Georgian  Actress  73 

speak  of  religion  in  my  presence,"  he  had 
shouted,  thumping  on  the  table  with  his 
fist,  "  it  makes  me  melancholy." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  that,"  she  had 
retorted,  dryly. 

Now,  in  his  annoyance  at  her  allusion 
to  his  age,  he  forgot  his  jest  and  settled 
himself  sullenly  in  a  chair  before  the  fire. 

"  Mix  me  a  glass  of  grog,  Nancy,"  he 
said,  stretching  out  his  legs  to  its  generous 
warmth. 

She  hung  the  little  kettle  on  the  crane, 
and  then  took  down  from  the  chimney 
shelf  a  pipe  and  a  box  that  contained  to- 
bacco. She  filled  the  pipe  and  handed  it 
to  him  with  a  lighted  taper,  then  seated 
herself  on  a  stool  at  his  knee.  The  first 
few  puffs  soothed  his  ruffled  temper. 
The  genial  warmth  after  his  long,  cold  ride 
made  him  pleasantly  drowsy.  He  looked 
at  Madame  Van  Vrankin  sitting  opposite 
him,  the  firelight  flashing  on  her  knitting- 
needles.  Her  expression  was  one  of 
abstraction,  as  if  she  had  already  forgotten 
his  presence.  He  could  discern  in  her 
now  no  trace  of  the  dashing  English  beauty 


74  A  Georgian  Actress 

that  had  set  the  hearts  of  the  Albany 
beaux  on  fire  one  long-ago  winter.  He 
had  been  among  the  jilted.  He  never  re- 
called this  episode  without  a  sense  of 
humour  and  a  delicious  consciousness  of 
escape.  She  had  married  one  of  the  fa- 
mous Van  Vrankins.  Later  the  border  war 
broke  out,  and  her  husband  was  called  to 
the  front.  She  seized  the  opportunity  his 
absence  thus  afforded  to  revisit  London, 
leaving  her  little  son  with  his  father's 
parents.  Hearing  that  Sir  William  John- 
son desired  a  housekeeper,  she  sold  him  a 
High  Dutch  girl  who  had  been  bound  to 
her  service  for  a  number  of  years  by  the 
captain  in  whose  ship  she  sailed  to  America, 
and  who  thus  collected  her  passage-money. 
Her  visit  abroad  passed  into  the  second 
year.  Neither  her  husband's  entreaties 
nor  longing  to  see  her  child  could  make 
her  turn  from  the  gaiety  and  adulation 
that  society  lavished  upon  her  money  and 
beauty.  She  wrote,  urging  her  husband 
to  come  to  London.  To  this  letter  she 
never  received  a  reply.  Before  it  crossed 
the  seas  she  had  word  of  his  death  while 


A  Georgian  Actress  75 

fighting.  And  the  same  week  came  the 
equally  terrible  news  that  the  old  couple, 
with  their  little  grandson,  had  gone  to  visit 
friends  in  the  country  but  had  never 
reached  their  destination,  and  were  be- 
lieved to  have  been  massacred  by  the 
Indians.  Eight  years  later  her  restless 
travels  brought  her  to  America.  There 
a  fresh  shock  awaited  her.  The  country- 
side whispered  of  a  scandal  at  Johnson 
Hall.  Madame  Van  Vrankin,  going  to 
visit  her  old  servant,  found  the  High 
Dutch  girl  dying,  a  baby  a  week  old  be- 
side her,  and  two  other  tiny  children  play- 
ing in  the  room.  What  argument  she 
brought  to  bear  upon  Sir  William  none 
ever  knew,  but  he  married  the  mother  of 
his  children  on  her  death  bed,  and  in  the 
ring  that  was  used  in  the  ceremony 
Madame  had  inscribed  the  date  of  the 
day  she  died. 

From  that  time  on  Madame  Van 
Vrankin  lived  at  Johnson  Castle,  which 
Sir  William  built  for  his  daughters  eight 
miles  back  in  the  forest.  There  she 
devoted  herself  to  the  two  girls,  whose 


7 6  A  Georgian  Actress 

mother  had  confided  them  to  her  care. 
The  oldest  child,  a  boy,  the  father  kept 
with  him,  and  sent  him  later  to  school  in 
England.  It  fell  in  with  Madame's 
strange  theory  of  bringing  up  the  children 
in  solitude  that  the  girls  should  not  know 
of  their  brother.  He,  however,  learned 
through  the  current  gossip  of  their  exist- 
ence, and,  although  he  often  wandered 
near  the  castle,  he  did  not  dare  disobey 
his  father's  order  that  Madame  Van 
Vrankin's  wishes  should  be  respected. 

The  secret  of  the  hold  she  held  over 
Sir  William  did  not  lie  in  her  knowledge 
of  his  treatment  of  his  wife,  —  whom, 
indeed,  he  remembered  as  a  podr  and 
rather  spiritless  creature,  —  but  in  her 
promise  to  leave  his  daughters  her  large 
property.  He  had  been  at  first  more 
anxious  to  be  rid  of  the  responsibility  of 
bringing  up  his  girls  than  concerned  for 
their  heritage.  But  greed  came  with  his 
vast  possessions,  and  he  was  desirous  to 
leave  all  to  his  son  whom  he  idolised. 
This  he  could  do  by  counting  on  her 
fortune  for  his  two  younger  children. 


A  Georgian  Actress  77 

Sometimes,  however,  as  he  noted  Ann 
blossoming  into  womanhood,  he  was 
tempted  to  exert  his  parental  authority, 
and  take  her  to  live  with  him.  But  his 
desire  that  John  should  inherit  all  his 
money  and  land,  undivided,  restrained 
him  from  defying  Madame,  who  was 
capable  of  keeping  her  word,  no  matter 
how  deep  her  affection  for  her  charges. 

These  thoughts,  passing  through  his' 
mind  now  as  he  sat  before  the  fire,  sad- 
dened him.  He  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  sighed,  and  stroked  Ann's 
head  as  she  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  feet  wait- 
ing for  the  little  kettle  to  boil.  Was  she 
not  flesh,  of  his  flesh  and  yet  he  had  re- 
signed all  claim  to  her? 

"  It's  beginning  to  boil  now,"  she  said, 
"  can't  you  hear  it  singing  ?  "  holding  up 
her  finger  to  compel  attention  to  the  sound. 

It  was  only  four  o'clock,  but  outside 
the  circle  of  firelight  the  long  room  was 
gloomy.  The  steam  spurted  in  a  sudden 
cloud  from  the  kettle. 

"  Shall  I  make  tea  for  us  ?  "  asked  Ann 
of  Madame. 


78  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  I'll  have  tea  myself,"  said  Sir  Will- 
iam. "  Make  it  a  trifle  strong,  Nancy,  and 
stir  in  considerable  sugar  and  a  drop  of 
brandy  instead  of  cream  for  me." 

"Where's  Peggy  ? "  he  continued, 
watching  her  as  she  drew  out  the  low  tea- 
table.  "  You've  got  my  mother's  figure, 
Nancy.  Lord,  what  a  beauty  she  was  ! 
There  weren't  many  who  could  hold  a 
candle  to  your  grandmother,  let  me  tell 
you." 

"  Could  she  dance  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Dance  !  "  he  echoed.  "She  tripped 
light  as  a  summer  breeze  over —  " 

"  Ann,"  interrupted  Madame,  "  you 
are  putting  in  far  too  much  tea.  Peggy," 
raising  her  voice,  "  are  you  there  ?  Your 
father  has  asked  for  you." 

The  little  maid  came  out  reluctantly 
from  behind  the  heavy  maroon-coloured 
curtains  at  the  front  window.  She  had 
been  watching  some  robins  eat  the 
crumbs  she  had  sprinkled  on  the  outside 
ledge. 

Sir  William  turned  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  curiosity  not  unmingled  with  in- 


A  Georgian  Actress  79 

stinctive  fatherly  affection.  Now  that  his 
anger  had  passed,  he  was  inclined  to  dis- 
miss her  escapade  of  the  other  evening 
indulgently.  He  put  out  his  hand. 

"  Come,  Peggy,"  he  said,  kindly,  and 
drew  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  The 
touch  of  her  soft  little  face  melted  any 
lingering  harshness  of  feeling  on  his  part. 
After  all,  what  a  mere  baby  she  was,  with 
her  yellow  hair,  her  pink  cheeks,  and  blue 
eyes.  As  he  would  have  taken  her  on 
his  knee  her  figure  stiffened  rebelliously. 
The  old  antagonism  flamed  up.  He 
pushed  her  from  him. 

"  There,  child,"  he  cried,  harshly,  "  go 
play  with  your  dolls." 

"  Please  run  and  tell  Pompey  to  bring 
up  the  cream  and  cake,  Peggy  dear," 
asked  Ann  ;  "  tea  is  made." 

The  short  afternoon  waned.  Over  the 
pleasant  teacups  Sir  William's  ever  fluctu- 
ating good-humour  revived.  He  gos- 
siped with  Madame  on  public  affairs. 
The  two  met  on  a  common  ground  of 
intellectual  interests.  Ann  was  always  a 
puzzled  listener  to  these  conversations. 


8o  A  Georgian  Actress 

Her  monitress  appeared  in  a  new  light. 
Depriving  herself  voluntarily  of  even  such 
news  as  the  current  post  might  have  sup- 
plied, she  was  unconscious  of  the  eager 
interest  she  evinced  in  Sir  William's  con- 
versation. 

The  two  girls  sat  in  straight-backed 
chairs  side  by  side,  their  hands  clasped 
under  the  table.  Both  hoped  to  hear 
their  brother's  name  mentioned. 

The  two  older  people  had  one  great 
mutual  interest.  This  was  the  Indian 
question.  Sir  William's  position,  his 
title  and  property,  proceeded  from  his 
sovereignty  over  The  People  of  the 
Long  House.  He  did  not  underestimate 
the  influence  Madame  Van  Vrankin  had 
gained  for  him  by  her  efforts  to  educate 
and  Christianise  those  Indians  that  came 
within  her  reach.  Her  power  was  silent 
and  far-reaching,  and  she  was  regarded 
with  peculiar  reverence  by  the  tribe.  She 
had  built  a  small  stone  church  in  their  set- 
tlement, and  once  a  month,  at  her  direc- 
tion, an  Albany  clergyman  preached  to 
the  Christian  Indians. 


A  Georgian  Actress  81 

"  Father,"  ventured  Ann,  during  a 
pause  in  the  conversation,  "  how  very  tall 
that  hunter  was  who  brought  Peggy 
home." 

"Who?  Claus?"  he  asked.  "Yes, 
he's  a  big  fellow.  I  had  hoped  John 
would  have  been  a  larger  man  than  he  is." 

Peggy  and  Ann  both  thrilled,  and  their 
clasped  hands  tightened.  "  That  is  his 
name,"  whispered  the  little  sister. 

"  I  knew  the  Claus  family  once,"  re- 
marked Madame,  taking  another  cup  of 
tea,  "  this  son  reminds  me  of  some  one  I 
once  knew,  but  I  cannot  place  the  re- 
semblance." 

Sir  William  rose  to  go.  Ann  ran 
down-stairs  and  brought  up  his  outside 
garments  to  warm  them  at  the  fire. 

Fear  of  Madame,  dislike  of  her  father, 
restrained  Peggy  no  longer. 

"  When  is  our  brother  coming  to  see 
us?" 

"  Please  let  him  come  soon,"  begged 
Ann.  "  Madame  says  now  that  we  know 
of  him,  she  no  longer  cares  if  he  comes." 

"  He's  in  New  York  now  on  business 


82  A  Georgian  Actress 

for  me,  but  I'll  send  him  over  when  he 
comes  back."  He  was  plainly  delighted. 

"Why  did  you  not  wear  your  Indian 
chief  dress  ?  "  asked  Peggy. 

He  caught  the  glimmer  of  a  smile  on 
Madame's  face,  and  burst  into  one  of  his 
sudden  furies  with  her.  "  Ay,  laugh,"  he 
cried,  "and  teach  my  daughters  to  ridi- 
cule me.  But,  I  think,  the  jest  is  on  you. 
You  who  were  so  determined  to  keep  the 
natural  relations  of  flesh  and  blood  apart ! 
I'll  wager  it  was  not  you  who  told  my 
girls  of  John."  He  seized  Peggy 
roughly.  "  Come,  who  was  it  told  you 
of  him  ? " 

She  struck  at  him  with  her  free  hand. 
He  flung  her  from  him. 

"  There,  you  see  your  work,  Madame," 
he  cried. 

"  She  shall  be  punished,"  she  answered, 
coldly. 

He  sniffed,  and  hurried  from  the  room, 
slamming  the  door  after  him.  Ann 
opened  it  again,  and  ran  down-stairs  after 
him  to  say  good-bye. 

At    the    Hall    all    cheer    and   warmth 


A  Georgian  Actress  83 

awaited  his  return.  He  was  still  enter- 
taining the  officers,  and  also  an  old  friend 
and  his  wife  from  abroad.  There  would 
be  a  bountiful  dinner,  good  wine,  cards, 
and  gossip.  The  stars  were  shining  as  he 
started  for  home,  and  he  became  once 
more  serene,  as  he  got  into  the  sledge 
and  sped  along  the  frozen  river,  the  keen 
air  whistling  by,  and  a  wonderful  white 
reflection  of  snow  and  starlight  in  the  air. 

He  did  not  visit  them  again  until 
toward  Christmas.  He  came  alone.  Sir 
John  had  been  home  on  a  flying  visit  and 
gone  back  to  New  York,  where  he  pro- 
fessed himself  enamoured  of  a  Dutch 
beauty. 

"Oh,  Peggy,"  wept  Ann  that  night, 
after  the  two  were  in  bed,  "  my  heart 
is  bitter-sore  with  disappointment.  If  he 
were  our  brother  really,  he  would  come 
to  see  us." 

"  Hush,"  answered  Peggy,  solemnly. 
"  Three  times  has  Naukoska  set  a  charm. 
Three  times  has  it  been  successful.  He 
will  come  back.  Hush,  dear  Ann."  She 
put  her  arms  around  her  sister's  neck  and 


84  A  Georgian  Actress 

kissed  her.  "  He  will  come  back  in  the 
spring,  and  take  us  far,  far  away.  Thus 
Naukoska  read  in  the  charm." 

But  despite  her  faith  in  Naukoska,  the 
little  maid  went  to  the  garden  every  after- 
noon, and  waited  the  reappearance  of  Sir 
John  in  vain,  lingering  until  she  ached 
with  the  bitter  cold. 

The  small  animals  and  birds  starved 
or  were  frozen  to  death  in  large  numbers 
that  terrible  winter.  Every  time  Peggy 
went  out  into  the  garden  she  found  some 
helpless  creature,  which  she  brought  back 
in  her  loving  little  arms,  and  carried  to 
the  kitchen.  In  her  own  and  Ann's  bed- 
room, she  kept  her  especial  pets.  There 
they  lived  in  good-fellowship.  She  had 
several  crows,  a  Robin  Redbreast,  two  sil- 
ver squirrels,  and  a  white  rabbit  with  ruby 
eyes.  But  Terunda,  who  was  ill-natured, 
she  was  obliged  to  keep  out  of  the  room, 
unless  she  were  there.  Hour  after  hour 
she  amused  herself  with  them,  playing 
in  the  lofty  chamber,  which  was  chill  de- 
spite the  hangings  on  the  wall  and  the 
fire  on  the  hearth. 


A  Georgian  Actress  85 

The  wild  and  timid  deer  driven  by 
hunger  came  to  the  gate,  and  Madame 
Van  Vrankin  ordered  food  given  to  them. 
Ann  adopted  a  fawn  that  was  left  behind, 
and  she  fed  it  with  warm  milk,  and  had  a 
corner  in  the  stable  swept  and  filled  with 
clean  straw  for  it.  Often  she  walked  in 
the  garden  with  it,  muffled  to  her  eyes 
in  her  cardinal,  a  long  crimson-hooded 
garment  of  fine  wool. 

So  with  these  diversions  afforded  by 
their  pets,  and  a  game  of  shuttlecock  in 
the  hall,  or  chess  of  an  evening,  the  time 
passed.  Madame  had  them  do  much 
studying,  and  practice  their  music,  as  well 
as  their  fine  sewing  and  embroidery. 


Chapter  V 

THERE  came  a  day  at  last  when  the 
spring  returned.  The  ice  in  the 
river  broke  with  ominous  booming  sounds 
and  the  swollen  water  overflowed  the 
banks.  The  swelling  buds  of  the  trees 
waited  the  warm  rains.  In  the  bare  forest, 
so  bright  with  sunshine  and  melting  snows, 
the  Indian  women  and  children  wandered 
and  selected  the  maple-trees  to  be  tapped. 
Here  and  there  a  temporary  wigwam  was 
erected,  and  near  by,  swung  from  three 
cross  poles,  bubbled  the  big  iron  pot  in 
which  the  sap  was  being  boiled  down  to  a 
sweet  syrup.  The  thin  blue  smoke  from 
these  fires  rose  like  incense  on  the  cool, 
soft  air. 

March  and  April  passed  with  ever  un- 
folding beauty. 

At  the  Hall  Sir  William  maintained  in 
marked  degree  the  splendour  of  his  living. 

86 


A  Georgian  Actress  87 

He  discarded  for  the  season  his  Indian 
costume,  and  wore  the  curled  peruke  and 
velvet  small-clothes  of  a  man  of  fashion. 
He  rode  in  a  coach  and  six.  His  doors 
were  thrown  wide  to  the  men  and  women 
who  visited  him  and  who  brought  all  the 
manner  and  dress  of  the  gay  world  to 
these  wilds.  The  Hall  lost  its  graver 
aspect  as  the  abode  of  the  Superintendent 
of  Indian  Affairs,  and  seemed  transformed 
to  an  English  country  place.  The  rooms 
rang  with  merry  voices  and  laughter; 
through  the  woods  flashed  the  bright 
coats  of  the  men,  the  soberer  dresses 
of  the  women,  as  they  followed  the 
hunt. 

Sir  William's  daughters  had  no  share 
in  all  this  gaiety.  Once  from  an  upper 
window  Ann  saw  her  father's  coach  and 
horses  pass  along  a  road  that  skirted  the 
forest.  She  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
brilliant  gowns,  and  fancied,  despite  the 
distance,  that  she  heard  a  faint  echo  of 
laughter.  Her  heart  throbbed  painfully 
with  excitement.  A  storm  of  indignation 
that  she  was  not  one  of  the  party  swept 


88  A  Georgian  Actress 

over  her.  She  hurried  to  find  Madame 
Van  Vrankin. 

"  Madame,"  she  cried,  bursting  into  the 
room  where  her  preceptress  stood  before 
the  embroidery-frame,  "  I  wish  the  key  to 
the  great  gate.  Peggy  has  been  without, 
and  now  I  am  going." 

The  other  turned  and  the  mere  healthy 
aggressiveness  of  youth  was  forced  upon 
her.  So  she  looked  at  Ann  and  felt  her 
own  life  feeble  and  colourless. 

"It  is  my  wish  you  should  not  go  out- 
side," she  said. 

"  I  will  have  the  key,"  cried  Ann,  "  I 
will  not  be  treated  like  a  child  any 
longer." 

Madame  removed  the  key  from  the 
bunch  at  her  side,  and  extended  it  silently. 
There  was  a  strange  patience  in  her  face. 
Since  Peggy's  venture  in  the  fall  she  had 
taken  his  key  away  from  old  Naukoska, 
that  none  might  enter  or  leave  the  castle 
without  her  knowledge. 

"  It  is  my  wish  you  should  not  go," 
she  repeated ;  "  you  are  disobedient." 

But  Ann,  all  in  the  spirit  of  a  naughty 


A  Georgian  Actress  89 

child,  half-repentant  at  the  outset  of  her 
intended  naughtiness,  hurried  out.  At 
first  she  thought  of  getting  Peggy  to  go 
with  her,  but  shame  at  such  open  defiance 
deterred  her.  Naukoska  nodded  in  his 
accustomed  seat  in  the  sunshine.  De- 
prived of  his  power,  still  like  a  toothless 
old  watch-dog,  he  was  faithful  to  his  post. 

It  required  all  her  strength  to  push  open 
the  gate.  She  stepped  out  upon  the  road 
for  the  first  time  unaccompanied,  and  stood 
smiling,  looking  around  her,  flinging  back 
her  head  to  gaze  into  the  clear  sky,  then 
turning  to  glance  back  down  the  valley. 
As  she  did  so  she  noticed  that  the  gate  had 
swung  to.  She  pushed  it  open  again  and 
put  a  heavy  stone  in  place  to  keep  it  so. 

"It  shall  never  be  closed  again,"  she 
said,  nodding  her  wilful  head  at  the  drows- 
ing Naukoska,  "  it  shall  remain  open  thus 
for  people  to  pass  in  and  out,  to  and  from 
the  world." 

He  heeded  her  not.  Not  even  Peggy's 
voice  could  compel  his  attention  nowadays. 

She  took  a  bridle-path  leading  where 
the  wooded  depths  seemed  greenest.  The 


go  A  Georgian  Actress 

spring  woods  were  still  scant  in  foliage,  and 
thus  held  a  passing  and  delicate  loveliness, 
a  lofty  airiness,  and  far-reaching  forest 
vistas. 

To  her  delight,  she  found  grazing  the 
young  fawn  that  had  been  her  pet  in  the 
winter,  and  which  Madame  had  ordered 
turned  out  when  the  warm  days  came,  that 
it  might  have  its  freedom  and  rejoin  its 
kind.  Regretful  that  she  had  no  sugar 
lumps  to  give  it  she  plucked  the  young 
grass  and  let  it  feed  from  her  hand.  Tir- 
ing at  last  of  playing  with  it,  she  wandered 
on,  seeking  fresh  diversion.  Thus  it  was 
that  all  unexpectedly  at  a  turn  of  the  path 
she  and  Mr.  Claus  met  each  other. 

The  little  fawn  was  not  quicker  to  retreat 
than  Ann.  Only  she,  after  the  first  start, 
stood  still  with  beating  heart.  Her  gentle 
companion  bounded  away  into  the  forest. 
For  a  brief  moment  the  young  people 
were  silent,  she  all  timid  and  fluttering,  he, 
reining  in  his  horse,  gazed  down  on  her 
with  a  look  wistful  and  dazed,  as  though 
she  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream. 

"  Have  you,"   asked  Ann,  first  to  re- 


A  Georgian  Actress  91 

cover  her  composure,  "  seen  my  father's 
coach,  filled  with  gay  gentlefolk,  go  pass- 
ing by  this  afternoon  ?  " 

He  dismounted.  "  No,  I  haven't  seen 
him.  I  am  only  just  in  from  a  long  hunt- 
ing trip,  and  have  sent  my  negro  boy  on 
ahead  with  the  muskets  and  luggage." 
He  did  not  add  that  his  first  thought  on 
nearing  home  was  to  ride  toward  the  castle 
in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  her  at 
some  window. 

"  I  must  go  on,  for  I  am  most  anxious 
to  meet  my  father,"  said  she.  Remem- 
bering the  instructions  contained  in  The 
Gentlewoman's  Companion,  she  dropped 
him  a  curtsey. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  go  with  you  ? "  he 
asked,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  please  let  us  walk  very  fast," 
she  answered. 

"  Are  Madame  Van  Vrankin  and  your 
sister  well  ?  "  he  inquired,  curious  to  know 
how  she  came  to  be  wandering  unaccom- 
panied in  the  forest. 

"  Madame  is  still  pale  from  the  long 
winter.  She  does  not  like  the  snow.  Do 


92,  A  Georgian  Actress 

you  think  we  are  surely  going  the  right 
way  to  meet  my  father's  coach  ? "  she 
added,  anxiously. 

An  hour  passed.  Claus  walked  in  a 
dream  of  happiness.  Long  before  he  met 
Ann,  the  fact  of  her  own  and  her  sister's 
confinement  in  the  lonely  forest  had 
appealed  to  his  imagination.  Two  years 
ago  he  had  mingled  freely  in  Albany 
society  and  been  foremost  in  the  hearty 
sports  of  the  young  Dutchmen,  and  ac- 
companied their  stout  and  comely  sisters 
to  husking-bees  and  country  frolics.  But 
his  long  trips  into  the  interior,  with  his 
body-servant  for  his  one  companion,  had 
wrought  a  change  in  him.  From  these 
forest  excursions,  lasting  several  months, 
he  emerged  each  time  with  added  dignity 
and  shrouded  in  a  more  impenetrable 
reserve.  In  the  solitude  of  the  mighty 
woods,  aloof  from  his  old  companions, 
serious  and  lofty  thoughts  came  to  him, 
and  he  developed  latent  ambition.  Con- 
versation at  the  tavern  of  an  evening  with 
his  former  companions  now  annoyed  him, 
and  so  he  drifted  away  from  them  and 


A  Georgian  Actress  93 

spent  his  evening  instead  at  Johnson  Hall. 
Here  he  not  only  fell  much  under  the 
influence  of  its  master,  but  also  met  many 
delightful  and  worldly  people.  Sir  Will- 
iam looked  upon  him  almost  as  an  estab- 
lished member  of  his  household  and  grew 
to  consult  the  young  hunter's  judgment  in 
any  affair  of  policy  with  the  Indians. 

His  face  as  he  walked  beside  Ann  was 
touching  in  its  look  of  almost  boyish  hap- 
piness. His  chestnut  hair,  that  lay  care- 
lessly about  his  forehead,  an  observer  must 
have  felt  to  be  a  maternal  inheritance. 
His  hazel  eyes,  veiled  by  lashes  so  long 
that  in  sunny  moods  they  held  the  attrac- 
tive sweetness  of  certain  pretty  women, 
added  a  contradictory  charm  to  his 
bronzed  well-shaped  features. 

She  wore  no  head-covering,  and  he  saw 
that  the  light  on  her  long  braid  had  a 
purple  lustre  like  the  bloom  of  grapes. 
And  whenever  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his, 
he  realised  their  beauty  afresh,  and  told 
himself  that  they  were  not  like  most  blue 
eyes,  but  had  the  same  violet  tone  that 
made  her  hair  so  wonderful.  How  often 


94  A  Georgian  Actress 

on  this  last  trip  as  he  kept  the  watch  by  the 
fire  while  his  negro  boy  slept,  had  he  lived 
over  again  his  one  meeting  with  her !  It 
seemed  so  natural  now  to  be  walking  at  her 
side,  listening  to  her  sweet  tones,  —  for 
Ann  did  most  of  the  talking,  —  that  he 
was  filled  with  wonder  at  his  own  serenity. 

She,  soon  become  weary,  sat  down  on 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree. 

"  I  fear  we  made  a  mistake  coming  this 
way,"  she  sighed.  Her  lips  trembled 
with  disappointment.  "  I  wish  I  had  asked 
Madame  to  come  with  me.  Perhaps  she 
would  have  come."  Her  elation  had 
given  way  to  homesickness,  and  she  felt 
conscience-stricken  at  the  memory  of 
her  disobedience.  "  Have  you  been  far 
away  ? "  she  asked  him,  seeking  to  forget 
her  depression  in  conversation. 

"A  good  distance  to  the  north,"  he 
answered.  He,  too,  experienced  a  pang 
of  conscience  at  a  sudden  thought  of 
Madame,  and  felt  that,  in  all  honour,  he 
ought  to  conduct  his  companion  home  at 
once. 

Ann,    having    forgotten    her    question 


A  Georgian  Actress  95 

almost  as  soon  as  she  had  asked  it,  scarce 
heard  his  reply,  and  gazed  dreamily  beyond 
him.  "  When  I  go  to  London,"  said  she, 
softly,  "  I  shall  do  exactly  as  I  please." 

"  What  will  you  do  ? "  he  asked,  his 
eyes  bright  with  laughter. 

"  I  shall  become  a  play-actress,"  she 
answered,  serenely,  "  and  then  when  I  am 
wearied  of  that,  I  shall  marry." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Claus's  head.  His 
love  and  hope,  the  long  winter's  denial 
of  any  glimpse  of  her,  suddenly  stung 
by  wild  jealousy,  surged  over  him. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  marry  me,"  he 
cried. 

"  Marry  you  !  "  she  echoed.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet.  This  —  this  rude  hunter  to 
wish  to  marry  her !  And  what  a  way 
to  woo  a  maid  !  A  sob  of  fear  and  dislike 
burst  from  her. 

Cut  to  the  heart  that  she  wept,  ashamed 
of  his  own  lack  of  self-control,  he  hastened 
to  reassure  her.  "  No,  no,  I  did  not  indeed 
mean  it.  I  would  not  marry  any  woman 
unless  she  loved  me." 

She  smiled  tremulously ;  the  tears  still 


96  A  Georgian  Actress 

hung  on  her  lashes.  "  Then  you  but 
jested  with  me  ?  Do  you  expect  to  marry 
soon,  that  you  are  so  much  given  to  jesting 
on  the  subject  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  marry,"  he  answered, 
sadly. 

"  It  must  be  strange  to  be  a  hunter's 
wife,"  mused  Ann.  "  What  would  she  do 
when  you  were  far  away  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say,"  he  answered ;  "  but  if 
you  would  like  to  know  what  the  good 
Dutch  wives  in  Albany  do,  I  will  tell  you. 
In  the  summer-time  they  attend  to  the 
gardens  and  dry  or  preserve  fruits,  and  lay 
up  goodly  stores  for  winter.  Yet,  'tis  the 
long,  cold  evenings  that  are  best,  when 
the  supper-table  is  cleared  and  a  dish  of 
apples  and  doughnuts  put  on,  and  the 
men  smoke  and  drink  their  cider,  while 
the  women  sit  around  the  fire  knitting 
stockings  —  " 

"  Knitting  stockings,"  echoed  Ann ; 
"  when  do  they  find  time  to  read,  or  play 
chess  or  shuttlecock  ?  I  should  not  think 
they  would  like  knitted  stockings."  She 
thrust  forth  her  foot.  "  My  stockings 


A  Georgian  Actress  97 

are  of  silk,  and  it  is  the  negro  women 
who  preserve  and  cook  at  the  castle.  I 
feel  sorry  for  the  Dutch  wives.  They 
must  be  most  unhappy.  Why  do  they 
marry  if  they  must  work  so  ?  " 

"  Have  you  never  thought  of  love  ?  " 
asked  poor  Claus. 

She  sighed  and  sighed  again.  A  wave  of 
rosy  colour  swept  over  her  face.  "  I  have 
often  thought  of  it,  sir,  and  contemplate 
how  fine  a  thing  it  must  be  to  have  a  man 
of  much  elegance  languishing  for  love  of 
one.  A  man  who  should  dance  with  sur- 
passing grace,  and  be  for  ever  picking  up 
one's  handkerchief,  or  dropping  to  his 
knees  to  beseech  but  a  glance.  And  at 
the  same  time  I  would  have  him  a  man 
severe  toward  others,  a  wit,  and  also  a 
scholar  very  much  honoured  in  the  world. 
But  I  must  go  now,  for  I  fear  Madame 
will  be  watching  for  me  and  wondering 
why  I  am  so  long." 

When  they  reached  the  tree  to  which 
Claus  had  tied  his  horse,  he  proposed 
that  she  should  ride  the  rest  of  the  way. 

"  I  think  that  would  be  nice,"  she  an- 


98  A  Georgian  Actress 

swered,  brightening,  for  her  steps  had 
lagged  in  spite  of  herself. 

He  took  off  the  saddle  and  strapped  his 
coat  over  the  back  of  the  horse,  and  then 
lifted  her  up,  remembering  at  the  same 
time  how  tired  little  Peggy  had  also  gotten 
the  time  he  brought  her  home.  There 
was  a  touching  pathos,  he  thought,  in  the 
fact  that  they  had  both  returned  so  wearied 
by  their  first  experience  away  from  the 
castle. 

He  led  the  horse,  carrying  the  discarded 
saddle  over  his  shoulder.  The  sun  was 
near  setting  and  cast  level  rays  through 
the  woods.  When  they  were  near  the 
castle,  Ann  insisted  upon  going  ahead 
alone.  She  felt  vaguely  that  it  would 
displease  Madame  to  see  her  returning 
with  the  hunter. 

So  Claus  lifted  her  down  and  stood  and 
watched  her  until  she  entered  the  gate. 
She  turned  and  smiled  and  waved  her 
hand.  He  stood  still  some  moments, 
then,  heavy-hearted,  mounted  and  rode 
away. 

Ann,  as  she  passed  in,  noted  with  tri- 


A  Georgian  Actress  99 

umph  that  the  gate  still  remained  open. 
She  sauntered  with  an  affectation  of  care- 
lessness, in  case  Madame's  eyes  should  be 
upon  her,  to  the  garden.  In  her  custom- 
ary corner  Peggy  sat  sewing,  surrounded 
by  her  dolls  and  pets. 

"  Why  have  you  that  key  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  Ann  sat  down  on  the  grass  beside  her. 

"  Because  I  am  no  longer  to  be  treated 
as  a  child.  But  I  have  much  to  tell  you. 
I  saw  our  father's  coach  this  afternoon, 
and  —  "  she  checked  herself  at  the  expres- 
sion on  Peggy's  face.  "  Why,  what  is  it, 
sweetheart  ?  What  has  grieved  you  ?  I 
see  !  You  are  offended  that  I  did  not 
take  you  with  me  ? " 

The  yellow  head,  drooping  piteously, 
shook  a  denial.  "  I  care  not  for  the 
world.  Why  was  it  my  brother  was 
glad  to  see  me  here,  but  when  I  went  to 
find  him  he  had  forgotten  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Ann, 
troubled. 

"  He  looked  like  you,  yet  was  not  like 
you,  but  I  loved  him  as  I  do  you.  Oh, 
Ann,  I  have  thought  how  much  I  could 


ioo  A  Georgian  Actress 

do  for  him.  I  observed  he  knew  not  how 
to  mend  his  clothes,  and  the  lace  on  his 
shirt  was  torn  and  needed  much  fine 
darning." 

In  the  face  of  such  sorrow  as  this,  Ann 
had  not  the  heart  to  relate  the  pleasant 
adventure  that  had  befallen  her. 

Peggy  went  on  sewing,  and  did  not 
speak  again.  After  awhile,  Ann,  discour- 
aged by  the  silence,  rose.  "  I  think  I 
will  take  the  key  back  to  Madame." 

She  went  first  to  the  chapel.  Not  find- 
ing her  there,  she  went  on  up  to  the 
drawing-room. 

"  Here  is  the  key,"  she  said,  closing 
the  door  behind  her,  for  Madame  was 
sensitive  to  draughts. 

Madame,  her  hands  gripping  the  arms 
of  her  chair,  felt  that  the  terrible  struggle 
of  the  afternoon  to  live  until  Ann  should 
return  had  been  in  vain.  All  those  tender 
words  surging  through  her  mind,  —  were 
they  to  remain  unuttered  ?  Death  rising 
higher  seemed  to  reach  her  throat  and 
choke  her.  She  was  conscious  that  the 
sun  was  setting,  that  at  this  hour  the 


A  Georgian  Actress  101 

Christian  Indians  she  had  taught  sat  circle- 
wise  upon  the  ground,  bowing  their  heads 
to  the  earth  in  prayer  and  devotion.  How 
many  duties  awaited  her  !  Ann  was  listen- 
ing for  her  words.  And  yet  the  threads 
of  life  were  slipping  from  her  fingers ! 
Love,  stronger  for  the  time  than  death, 
swept  over  her.  She  held  out  her  hand. 
At  that  divinely  tender  gesture,  the  tone 
of  that  voice,  Ann  realised  to  its  fullest 
extent  the  love  that  had  been  hers, — 
realised  it  in  the  brief  instant  it  took  her 
to  cross  the  room,  to  fling  herself  at 
Madame's  knees,  to  bury  her  head  in  her 
lap. 

"  I  will  never  disobey  you  again,"  she 
sobbed.  "  I  do  not  want  to  go  to  England. 
I  will  not  go.  No,  no ! "  She  felt 
trembling  hands  laid  on  her  head. 

"  Ann,"  said  Madame,  "  look  at  me." 

She  raised  her  face  and  saw  the  worn 
and  glorified  countenance  bending  over 
her,  caught  the  divine  brightness  of  the 
patient  eyes.  A  hush  fell  on  her;  her 
tears  ceased  to  flow,  her  sobs  were  checked. 

"Ann,"    continued    the   tender  voice, 


IO2  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  weigh  not  your  childish  naughtiness 
against  the  joy  and  comfort  you  have 
given  me.  When  I  am  gone,  remember 
that  I  said  to  you  you  never  caused  me 
pain.  Do  not  grieve,  my  child.  You 
have  been  my  comfort,  my  joy." 

Ann  put  her  hands  over  her  face  with  a 
bitter  cry.  "  You  will  break  my  heart 
if  you  leave  me.  Oh,  take  me  with  you  ! 
Oh,  do  not  leave  me  !  " 

"  Child,  child,"  said  poor  Madame,  "  'tis 
but  the  lying  down  to  sleep."  She  strove 
to  recall  all  she  had  meant  to  say.  "  Live 
righteously  from  your  youth  upwards. 
Do  no  evil,  for  although  you  repent, 
yet  shall  that  sin  rise  in  you  and  accuse 
you  when  most  you  would  speak  nobly 
to  others.  A  sin  is  never  done.  It  walks 
ever  beside  one,  whispering,  f  Who  are 
you  ? ' " 

Ann  saw  the  dying  eyes  fill  with  terror. 
"  But  not  you,"  she  cried,  "  you  who  are 
so  good ! " 

That  strange  and  subtle  smile  she  had 
seen  so  often  flitted  over  the  pale  face. 
Then  the  old  love  and  gentleness  came 


A  Georgian  Actress  103 

back  into  her  expression.  Her  feeble  hand 
strove  to  put  the  kneeling  girl  aside,  as 
though  she  would  rise  and  go  to  some  one. 

"  My  child,  my  little  one,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

Ann  put  her  strong  young  arms  around 
the  fragile  figure.  Madame's  face  fell 
against  the  girl's  shoulder.  Now  did  Ann 
see  how  wa.n  that  cheek,  how  sunken  the 
patient  mouth  and  eyes. 

"  Open  the  window  that  I  may  have 
air,"  murmured  Madame,  "  and  send 
Peggy.  I  have  something  to  say  to  her." 

"  The  window  is  open,"  whispered  Ann  ; 
"  see,  the  breeze  blows  my  hair  across 
your  cheek." 

Later,  as  she  thus  knelt  in  the  fading 
daylight,  supporting  Madame,  she  heard 
laughter  in  the  hall,  and  then  Peggy 
calling  her. 

"  Ann,  where  are  you  ?  My  brother 
has  come  back  to  me  from  out  the  world. 
He  found  the  gate  open  and  came  in." 

She  heard  steps  pass  the  door  and  then 
return. 

"  Madame,"  said  Peggy's  blithe  voice, 


IO4  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  here  is  my  brother."  She  pushed  the 
door  open,  and  put  her  smiling  little  face 
inside  the  room.  Back  of  her,  Ann  saw 
standing  a  young  man. 

"  Madame  is  dead,"  she  said. 

When  they  sought  old  Naukoska,  to 
tell  him  the  news,  they  found  but  the 
ancient  worn-out  body  in  its  accustomed 
place.  The  faithful  spirit  had  fled.  Nau- 
koska, the  old  watch-dog,  would  sit  in  the 
sun  at  the  gate  no  more. 

And  it  seemed  to  Ann  that  Death,  like 
a  terrible  figure,  had  strode  in  the  gate 
her  own  wilful  hands  had  opened  and 
summoned  her  beloved  guardian,  and, 
passing  out  again,  had  touched  old  Nau- 
koska, too. 

With  the  going  out  of  Madame,  the 
world  came  in. 


Chapter  VI 

IN  the  fall  of  that  year  Sir  John  and  his 
two  sisters  went  abroad.     They  took 
with  them  three  Mohawk  chiefs  who  were 
to  be  presented  to  George  III. 

The  summer  following  Madame  Van 
Vrankin's  death  had  passed  like  a  dream 
to  Ann,  and  in  after  years  she  could 
not  recall  the  events  of  that  time  with 
any  clearness  of  vision.  The  guests  Sir 
William  then  entertained  had  shown  the 
two  girls  much  attention,  particularly  the 
women,  whose  gaiety  was  fully  equalled 
by  their  kindness.  To  Ann  they  were 
the  bright  fancies  of  an  unreal  world. 
Wrapped  deep  in  her  grief  and  remorse, 
she  shrank  from  them,  and  was  thankful 
when  within  a  few  weeks  the  party  was 
broken  up  and  she  was  left  to  a  soli- 
tude broken  only  by  her  own  family  or 

by    an    occasional   call    from    Mr.    Claus. 
105 


io6  A  Georgian  Actress 

He  generally  spent  an  hour  or  two  chat- 
ting of  public  affairs,  of  town-gossip  in 
Albany,  of  his  own  adventures  in  the  for- 
est, hoping  thus  to  divert  her  thoughts 
from  too  great  dwelling  on  her  sorrow. 
He  was  the  only  person  to  whom  she 
spoke  of  Madame,  finding  always  entire 
sympathy.  While  they  talked  she  would 
work  at  what  was  indeed  a  veritable  labour 
of  love,  —  the  altar-cloth  that  the  patient 
hands  had  left  unfinished.  Often,  as  he 
watched  that  lightly  stepping,  girlish  fig- 
ure before  the  embroidery-frame,  as  she 
drew  the  length  of  silk  in  and  out,  he 
let  the  conversation  lag,  content  merely  to 
watch  her.  A  sense  of  his  own  unworthi- 
ness  did  not  weaken  his  determination  to 
win  her  for  his  wife,  but  this  he  told  him- 
self should  be  only  when  he  could  bring 
her  an  honoured  name  and  independent 
fortune. 

The  change  occasioned  by  the  long  sea 
voyage  brought  back  Ann's  old  brightness 
and  colour.  Before  they  reached  London 
she  found  herself  talking  to  Peggy  of  Ma- 
dame, tenderly,  but  without  tears. 


A  Georgian  Actress  107 

Sir  John  found  pleasant  accommoda- 
tions at  the  White  Swan  in  a  fashionable 
part  of  town.  He  procured  a  large  par- 
lour on  the  second  floor,  with  a  bed- 
chamber adjoining,  and  took  rooms  for 
himself  and  the  Indians  on  the  other  side 
of  the  hall. 

While  Peggy  dressed  for  supper  the 
day  they  arrived,  Ann,  who  had  been  first 
to  get  ready,  sat  at  the  window  that  was 
open,  for  the  day  was  mild.  She  looked 
out  upon  London  roofs  and  chimneys 
enveloped  in  smoke,  illumined  by  the 
yellow  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

"  Ann,"  said  her  sister,  sitting  on  the 
floor  to  draw  on  her  shoes,  "  how  queerly 
the  ladies  dress  in  London  town.  I  was 
watching  them  go  by  while  you  were  un- 
packing. It  struck  me  their  dress  was 
most  queer." 

"Why,  I  thought  their  attire  quite 
ravishing,"  replied  Ann,  who  had  picked 
up  this  latter  word  from  one  of  her  fa- 
ther's guests.  "  I  wish  now  I  had  taken 
more  note  as  to  how  the  gentlewomen 
at  the  Hall  looked,  but  I  was  too  sad  to 


io8  A  Georgian  Actress 

think  on  dress.  But  now  I  am  most 
uncomfortable  regarding  our  own  appear- 
ance. Shall  I  braid  your  hair  ?  " 

"Why,  I  didn't  think  of  our  looks," 
answered  the  little  maid,  handing  Ann 
the  brush  and  seating  herself  before  the 
mirror ;  "  for  truth  to  tell,  Ann,  I  could 
scarce  restrain  myself  from  laughing  at 
their  little  waists  and  mincing  walk  when 
John  took  me  for  a  stroll  this  afternoon. 
I  was  forced  to  stuff  my  kerchief  politely 
in  my  mouth.  Oh,  dear  me,  how  you 
pull !  Madame  was  so  gentle  when  she 
brushed  my  hair.  {So,'  she  would  say, 
4  so,  my  little  Peggy,  we  will  brush  it 
until  it  is  fine  and  golden  as  the  silk  tassel 
of  corn  in  the  ear.  'Tis  well  to  keep  the 
body  beautiful  that  it  may  be  the  fitting 
temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost.'  But  I  didn't 
love  Madame  as  I  do  you  or  John.  I  wept 
much  more  because  Naukoska  went  away. 
Alas  !  he  had  tales  yet  which  he  had  not 
told  me,  and  now  I  shall  never  hear  them." 

"  It  is  all  like  a  dream  to  me,  our  life 
at  the  castle,"  answered  Ann,  solemnly ; 
"  let  us  never  talk  of  it  more." 


A  Georgian  Actress  109 

They  had  been  in  London  some  ten 
days  when  Lady  Betty  Fitzhugh  called 
upon  them.  She  was  an  old  friend  of 
their  father. 

The  two  girls,  much  excited,  ran  out 
into  the  hall  to  greet  their  visitor,  who 
came  puffing  up  the  stairs  by  the  aid  of 
a  gold-headed  walking-stick :  her  volu- 
minous figure  in  ashes-of-roses  silk  quite 
filled  the  narrow  way.  Ann,  glancing 
over  the  banister  as  she  went  around  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs,  noted  a  young  man 
following.  He  looked  up  as  she  looked 
down,  and  she  met  a  pair  of  blue  eyes 
frankly  interested.  She  hurried  blushing 
by  to  greet  Lady  Betty. 

"  How  de.  do,  my  dears,"  said  that 
person,  in  a  mellow,  vigorous  voice ;  "  my 
Lud,  how  quaint  ye  be  with  your  braids  ! 
Eh,  Tony  ? " 

"If  you  will  explain  how  I  am  to  see 
through  you,  my  dear  aunt,  I  — "  com- 
menced the  young  man. 

"  Tut,  tut,  you're  always  finding  fault, 
Tony.  When  I  catch  my  breath,  I'll  get 
out  of  the  way.  Perdition  take  the  rascal 


no  A  Georgian  Actress 

that  built  these  stairs  !  "  While  she  spoke 
she  was  smiling  at  Ann.  "  My,  my,  what 
a  pretty  face.  There,  don't  let  that  spoil 
you.  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does. 
Is  your  father  as  good-looking  as  ever? 
Come  and  kiss  me,  my  love."  She 
planted  a  sounding  kiss  on  the  young 
girl's  cheek.  "  Come  here,  little  one,"  to 

Peggy- 
Peggy  drew  back  against  the  wall.     "  I 

desire  not  that  you  should  kiss  me." 

"  Hoity-toity,  miss,"  retorted  the  other, 
"you'll  yet  go  begging  for  a  kiss.  'Tis 
the  wind-up  of  coy  maids,  and  a  deserving 
fate."  She  stepped  aside,  and  made  room 
for  her  companion. 

"  My  dears,  let  me  make  you  acquaint 
with  my  nephew,  Mr.  Anthony  Dashwood ; 
a  great  flirt,  I  warn  you,  but  he  has  pretty 
manners,  and  is  a  man  of  parts.  Come, 
speak  up,  Tony." 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  protested  he,  laugh- 
ing, "  speak  up,  indeed  !  You  have  quite 
driven  from  my  mind  the  pretty  speech 
I  had  ready  to  say.  Speak  up,  indeed !  " 
He  bowed  over  Ann's  hand,  kissing  her 


A  Georgian  Actress  1 1 1 

finger  tips.  "  I  am  most  honoured  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

Peggy,  whom  Ann  had  carefully  in- 
structed, bobbed  a  curtsey,  and  hastily 
retreated,  her  hands  behind  her. 

"Will  you  please  come  this  way?" 
spoke  Ann,  shyly  directing  her  callers 
to  the  parlour. 

Lady  Betty  seated  herself  in  the  most 
substantial  chair  in  the  room,  and  untied 
the  strings  of  her  bonnet,  which  was  very 
elegant.  A  wreath  of  pink  roses  inside 
the  scuttle  brim  encircled  her  face,  purple 
as  a  full-blown  peony.  Three  nodding 
ostrich  tips  fell  over  from  the  back.  She 
began  to  fan  herself.  Her  black  lace  mitts 
most  revealed  by  half-concealing  her  sole 
beauty,  well-turned  wrists  and  plump  white 
hands. 

"  You  have  a  charming  view,"  remarked 
Mr.  Dashwood,  strolling  over  to  the  win- 
dow ;  "  but  what  is  this  I  see  ?  As  I  live, 
the  flies  have  found  the  honey  a' ready !  " 

"  Honey  ?  "  repeated  Ann,  following 
him  to  the  window.  She  perceived  only 
a  group  of  servants  gossiping  below  with 


U2  A  Georgian  Actress 

Lady  Betty's  coachman.  On  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  which  bordered  a  park, 
sauntered  two  young  gentlemen  arm  in 
arm,  as  it  was  the  fashion  then  for  the 
beaux  to  walk ;  each  swung  his  cane  in  his 
free  hand,  and  cast  languishing  glances  up 
at  the  window. 

"  The  Honey  and  the  Flies,"  repeated 
Mr.  Dashwood,  "  I  must  write  a  rhyme  on 
that,  what  d'ye  say,  Aunt  Betty  ?  "  He 
seated  himself,  and  glanced  pleasantly 
around  the  room.  His  blond  hair,  too 
bushy  to  permit  the  wearing  of  a  wig, 
added  an  effect  of  picturesque  disorder  to 
his  appearance.  His  dress  had  no  sugges- 
tion of  foppishness  and  was  of  plain  bottle- 
green  cloth. 

"  Where  is  that  handsome  brother  of 
yours  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  I  had  the  honour 
of  meeting  him  a  year  or  so  ago,  or  was 
it  three  ?  I  forget ;  I  never  trouble  myself 
trying  to  remember  dates.  It  disturbs 
the  poetic  faculty." 

"  John  has  gone  for  his  morning  walk," 
answered  Ann,  "  but  he  will  be  home 
soon." 


A  Georgian  Actress  113 

"  And  how  is  your  good  father,  my 
love  ?  "  put  in  Lady  Betty.  "  I  haven't 
seen  him  in  years.  My,  my,  how  I'd 
love  to  talk  over  old  times  with  him  !  I 
wonder  if  he  would  remember  Dicky 
Denniston.  Did  he  ever  speak  of  him  ? 
Do  tell  me,  is  your  father  at  all  gray  yet  ? 
When  you  write,  ask  him  if  he  knew 
that  Nancy  Walton  ran  off  with  another 
woman's  husband  ?  He  used  to  think 
Nancy  a  beauty.  What  a  witch  she  was  ! 
And  you  must  tell  him  that  old  Caswell 
left  his  money  to  that  worthless  nephew 
of  his,  after  all.  And  he's  made  ducks 
and  drakes  of  it.  But  come,  my  dear, 
tell  me  how  he  is." 

"He  is  well,"  said  Peggy.  "He  is 
married  to  an  Indian  squaw.  I  hope 
they  will  both  die  soon,  for  John  says  it 
is  a  disgrace,  but  he  says  they  are  good 
for  many  years  yet.  John  is  going  to 
manage  the  Indians  in  a  different  way 
from  my  father  when  it  comes  his  turn." 

Lady  Betty  jumped  at  the  commence- 
ment of  Peggy's  speech,  and  gasped  at  its 
conclusion.  "  What  a  remarkable  child  !  " 


114  A  Georgian  Actress 

she  exclaimed.  "  How  extraordinary  !  Did 
you  hear  her,  Tony  ? "  She  turned  se- 
verely on  Peggy.  "  Don't  you  know  any 
better  than  to  mention  such  subjects  in 
company  ?  Did  you  ever  see  this  savage 
woman  ?  Oh,  poor  William  !  I  tell  you, 
Tony,  I  blame  Nancy  Walton  for  this, 
the  jilt !  Do  you  suppose  he's  really 
married  to  her  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ? "  he  laughed. 
"  But  what  a  delightful  child  !  I  suppose 
she's  what  we  worldlings  would  call  a  child 
of  nature."  His  bright,  pale  eyes  twinkled 
with  amusement  as  he  looked  at  Peggy. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  is  some  low, 
savage  creature  who  wears  nose-rings," 
continued  his  aunt. 

"  Peggy  is  mistaken,"  said  Ann,  with 
trembling  dignity,  "my  father  is  very 
good  and  kind." 

Mr.  Dashwood  straightened  himself 
up  suddenly,  and  his  expression  became 
grave.  "  Forgive  us  for  distressing  you, 
Lady  Johnson.  We  Londoners  know  so 
little  of  the  Americans  that  we  get  wrong 
ideas  of  them,  perhaps.  But  I  now  recol- 


A  Georgian  Actress  115 

lect  that  travellers  have  reported  the 
Indians  to  be  a  fine-looking  people,  and 
that  some  of  the  young  girls  —  squaws,  I 
believe  you  call  them  —  are  quite  attrac- 
tive, though  swarthy.  But  we  are  forget- 
ting our  errand.  We  want  to  take  you  to 
the  theatre  to  see  Garrick  in  Lear,  that 
is,  if  you  haven't  already  seen  him.  You'll 
have  to  take  your  kerchiefs,  for  —  " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Sir  John,  who  came  in  with  a  fresh  colour 
in  his  dark  face.  He  carried  a  little  hand- 
muff  then  in  fashion,  and  had  a  posy 
fastened  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  blue 
coat,  the  tails  of  which  were  stiffly  wadded 
and  lined  with  canary  satin. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  Lady  Betty,  "  I 
but  just  received  your  note  or  I  should 
have  been  here  before.  I've  been  abroad 
with  some  friends,  and  —  " 

"  I  know,"  he  interrupted,  kissing  her 
cheek,  "  I'm  content  to  have  you  here  at 
last.  But  come,  what  d'ye  think  of  my 
two  pretty  sisters  ?  Ann  has  her  tan- 
trums, but  I  can  manage  her,  I  find.  Now 
I  want  you  to  take  them  in  charge. 


n6  A  Georgian  Actress 

They're  going  to  court  and  must  have 
the  right  sort  of  fol-de-rols.  Mr.  Dash- 
wood,  how  is  the  gentle  muse  ?  "  turning 
to  shake  hands  with  the  other  visitor. 

"  Like  a  woman,  truly,"  answered  Mr. 
Dashwood,  "  one  day  she  flouts  me,  and 
the  next  she  smiles." 

"  The  jade  !  "  cried  Sir  John.  "  Let 
her  go,  turn  your  back,  and  she'll  come 
tripping  after." 

"  We  called  to  see  what  you  thought 
of  going  to  the  theatre  to-night,"  continued 
Mr.  Dashwood. 

"He  has  nothing  to  say  about  it,"  put 
in  Lady  Betty.  "  These  children  are  going 
with  me  to-night  to  see  something  of  the 
town.  There,  I've  put  my  foot  down 
and  I  sha'n't  budge.  Go  they  shall !  " 

"I  protest  I'm  most  willing,"  said  Sir 
John. 

"Well,  help  me  up,"  she  rejoined. 
"  Tony,  my  stick.  John,  bend  down ;  I 
want  to  whisper  to  you.  I  hope  'tis  n't 
true  your  father  is  married  to  a  savage. 
Oh,  but  I  see  by  your  face  that  it  is. 
Don't  laugh  !  I  consider  it  was  very  im- 


A  Georgian  Actress  117 

proper  on  his  part.  And  he  that  was  so 
set  on  Nancy  Walton.  Poor  Nancy  !  But 
help  me  up,  you  scalawag.  Now,  my 
love,"  turning  to  Ann,  "  let  your  hair  be 
as  it  is  for  to-night.  I  protest  'tis  most 
girlish  and  sweet.  'Twill  attract  attention 
to  you,  and  being  lately  come  from  Bos- 
ton—" 

"  Not  from  Boston,  madame,"  inter- 
rupted Peggy,  "  but  from  near  Albany." 

"  Oh,  well,"  rejoined  Lady  Betty,  tying 
her  bonnet-strings,  "  'tis  all  one  and  the 
same  in  America,  and  being  lately  come 
from  Boston,  as  I  was  saying,  'twill  be 
expected  that  you  be  surprising  queer 
in  some  ways." 

On  the  threshold  as  she  went  out  she 
paused.  "  John,  never  be  or  do  anything 
you  would  be  ashamed  to  have  your  pretty 
sisters  know.  And  as  for  you,  my  dears, 
never  be  anything  less  pretty  than  your 
looks,'and  I  trow  this  world  will  be  a  better 
place  for  your  living  in  it.  Lack-a-mercy 
me !  When  I  think  that  here  I  am  with- 
out a  chick  or  a  child  to  keep  me  from 
growing  old  and  selfish  !  And  your  mother, 


n8  A  Georgian  Actress 

who  had  three,  to  be  in  her  grave  these 
many  years ! " 

"  John,"  cried  Ann,  when  the  door  had 
closed  on  their  visitors,  "  is  it  true  our 
father  has  married  a  squaw  ?  " 

Her  brother  was  lounging  in  a  chair, 
watching  Peggy  fill  his  pipe  for  him  as  he 
had  taught  her.  Ann  felt  a  pang  of  home- 
sickness. How  often  and  how  lovingly 
she  had  performed  the  same  little  office  for 
her  father ! 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  Sir  John, 
taking  the  pipe  from  his  sister.  It  had 
a  quaintly  carved  bowl  of  soapstone  and 
a  stem  three  feet  long,  curiously  wound 
with  braids  of  bright  porcupine  quills. 

"  If  he  has,"  continued  Ann,  "  I  never 
could  love  him  again." 

"  I  never  did,"  put  in  Peggy,  "  because 
he  never  loved  me." 

"  I  never  want  to  go  home  again,  never, 
never,"  said  Ann. 

"  Come,  come,  my  sweet  high  and 
mighty  sister,"  said  Sir  John.  "  'Tis  not 
so  bad.  Molly  is  a  handsome  woman 
with  the  mind  of  a  man.  Not  a  common 


A  Georgian  Actress  119 

squaw,  by  any  manner  of  means.  She's 
educated,  and  can  read  and  write." 

"  Molly,"  echoed  Ann,  in  terror  and 
disgust,  "  is  that  her  name  ?  Do  these 
Indians  who  are  here  with  us  know  it? 
Oh,  I  am  so  ashamed  !  " 

He  laughed,  puffing  at  his  pipe.  "Cluck, 
cluck,  cluck,  little-hen-with-her-feathers- 
wet,"  he  mocked. 

Ann  wept  awhile,  her  kerchief  to  her 
eyes.  A  thought  of  the  evening  passed 
through  her  mind.  After  all,  Sir  William, 
his  Indian  wife,  Castle  Johnson,  even  the 
memory  of  Madame,  seemed  very  far  away» 
shadowy  and  unreal. 

"  Peggy,"  said  she,  taking  her  kerchief 
from  her  eyes,  "  you  must  wear  your  new 
blue  hair  ribbons  to-night.  And  we'll  put 
on  the  pearls  that  were  our  mother's 
around  our  necks.  To  think  Madame 
had  our  mother's  jewels  hidden  away  all 
those  years  among  her  own  things,  and 
never  showed  them  to  us." 

A  little  later,  Sir  John  put  down  his 
pipe  and  accompanied  the  Indians  on  a 
visit  to  the  House  of  Lords. 


I2O  A  Georgian  Actress 

From  their  windows  the  two  girls  watched 
them  until  they  passed  from  sight.  The 
three  chiefs  strode  along  majestically  in 
single  file,  imperturbable  to  the  stares  and 
comments  showered  upon  them  by  the 
passers-by. 

They  occasioned  no  anxiety  to  their 
young  guardian,  who  discovered  that  they 
were  content  to  be  without  his  society,  and 
so  supplied  them  with  money  as  his  father 
had  directed,  and  left  them,  on  the  whole, 
very  much  to  their  own  devices.  They 
spent  much  time  in  the  tavern  drinking 
and  gambling  among  themselves.  Some- 
times the  three  went  for  a  stroll  through 
the  town,  to  be  followed  home  by  an  ad- 
miring and  curious,  but  respectful  crowd. 
Knowing  well  their  haughty  natures,  Sir 
John  saw  that  every  honour  was  accorded 
their  rank,  and  when  they  were  inclined 
to  become  angry  at  not  being  granted  an 
immediate  audience  by  George  III.,  he 
invented  excuses,  and  beseeched  them 
to  be  patient.  Fortunately,  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  expressed  his  desire  to  make 
portraits  of  them,  and  they,  to  the  delight 


A  Georgian  Actress  121 

of  the  great  painter,  sat  to  him  for  hours 
at  a  time,  with  majestic,  solemn  vanity. 
They  never  went  anywhere  in  the  even- 
ing, and  retired  early,  first  repairing  to  the 
parlour  of  the  girls  for  a  visit  with  them 
and  their  brother.  These  were  occasions 
of  real  joy  to  Peggy,  who  chatted  freely 
to  them  in  their  own  language.  The 
youngest  chief,  Owhera,  the  Wind,  had 
become  a  convert  to  Christianity  through 
the  efforts  of  Madame  Van  Vrankin,  and 
had  been  educated  at  the  expense  of  Sir 
William,  ever  generous  in  advancing  civili- 
sation among  his  children,  as  he  termed 
the  People  of  the  Long  House.  This 
young  fellow  took  much  simple  pride  in 
talking  to  Ann  and  John  in  stilted  Eng- 
lish. Ann  was  always  particularly  gracious 
to  him. 

But  when  the  three  Indians  filed  in  this 
night  after  supper,  she  unconsciously  let 
coldness  and  hauteur  creep  into  her 
manner,  so  ashamed  was  she  of  her 
father's  marriage.  She  feared  that  they 
might  also  know  it,  and  respecting  Sir 
William  less,  because  of  his  familiarity, 


122  A  Georgian  Actress 

visit  a  certain   disrespect  upon   his  chil- 
dren. 

On  their  way  to  the  theatre  in  the 
seclusion  of  the  coach,  Sir  John  scolded 
her  roundly  for  her  attitude.  His  father 
had  instructed  him  too  well  in  diplomatic 
dealing  with  the  Indians  for  him  to  per- 
mit Ann  to  offend  them.  He  himself 
never  failed  in  tact,  although  this  uniform 
courtesy  was  purely  a  virtue  of  circum- 
stance and  policy. 


Chapter  VII 

IT  was  a  crisp  fall  night,  with  stars 
twinkling  overhead.  The  Drury  Lane 
Theatre  was  a  long  way  from  the  White 
Swan.  The  girls,  Ann  in  spite  of  her 
brother's  sharp  scolding,  were  in  a  state 
of  delightful  excitement,  and  pressed  their 
faces  against  the  glass  doors  at  every  cross- 
ing where  the  yellow  street  lamps  shone 
down  on  the  hurrying  crowds. 

There  was  a  confused  blocking  of 
coaches  and  chairs  in  front  of  the  play- 
house, and  so  they  had  to  get  out  some 
distance  from  the  entrance  and  pick  their 
way  through  the  mud  amidst  a  mob  of 
rough  fellows  gathered  to  see  the  fine  ladies 
and  gentlemen.  Sir  John  walked  between 
his  sisters,  who  clung  timidly  to  him. 

The  theatre  was  already  well  filled. 

Lady  Betty,  elegantly  attired  in  peach- 
bloom  silk,  wearing  an  enormous  white 
"3 


124  A  Georgian  Actress 

wig,  and  with  wide  green  ribbons  tied  on 
her  walking-stick,  waited  them  in  her  box. 

"  Tony  was  to  dine  somewhere  or 
other,"  she  explained,  "  but  he  will  be 
in  later.  John,  I  protest  you're  as  good- 
looking  as  your  sisters.  Sit  down  in 
front  of  me,  there,  my  dears,  and  you, 
John,  next  to  me.  My  love,"  leaning 
forward  and  patting  Ann's  knee,  "  your 
cheeks  are  as  pretty  as  any  posies  I  ever 
saw,  but  a  trifle  delicate.  I  must  show 
you  how  to  put  on  a  dash  o'  red." 

"  I  thank  you,  madame,"  replied  Ann, 
embarrassed,  "  I  should  not  like  to  put 
paint  on  my  face.  'Tis  only  the  Indian 
women  at  home  who  do  that.  I  am  dis- 
tressed at  the  thought." 

"  Oh,  la  -  de  -  da,  child,  don't  be  so 
highfalutin,"  retorted  her  hostess ;  "  be- 
fore many  years  she'll  be  glad  enough 
of  a  dash  o'  red,  eh,  John  ?  Peaches-and- 
cream  doesn't  last  for  ever.  Lord,  could 
you  have  seen  my  complexion  !  Real 
Irish,  red  and  white  and  fine  as  silk." 

The  interior  of  the  theatre  was  almost 
square.  There  was  a  gallery  in  the  back, 


A  Georgian  Actress  125 

supported  by  pillars.  The  two  girls  noted 
that  a  number  of  footmen  sat  in  the  pit, 
and  John  explained  to  them  that  these 
servants  were  sent  early  to  hold  down 
good  seats  until  their  masters  or  mis- 
tresses should  arrive. 

"  Every  one  is  looking  at  you,  my 
chickadedees,"  whispered  Lady  Betty. 
"  Ha,  ha,  John,  look  at  Sir  Curiosity 
Walpole.  There,  over  there  in  that  box. 
It  takes  him  to  find  a  new  beauty.  Ah, 
my  dears,  I  never  was  enjoying  myself 
more." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  stay  longer,"  cried 
Ann,  frightened.  She  had  suddenly  be- 
come conscious  of  many  faces  turned  her 
way. 

Mr.  Dashwood  entered  at  that  moment. 
His  frank,  warm  greeting  restored  her 
composure.  He  was  much  touched  by 
her  startled  and  appealing  glance.  In 
that  painted  and  powdered  assembly,  she, 
with  her  smooth  young  face  so  innocent 
of  patches  and  powder,  her  deep  blue 
eyes,  and  her  black  hair  braided  in 
such  maidenly  fashion,  seemed  a  crea- 


126  A  Georgian  Actress 

ture  from  a  far-away  and  more  beautiful 
world,  and  he,  with  his  love  of  poetry, 
felt  she  might  indeed  personify  the 
Muse.  He  placed  a  bag  of  oranges 
in  her  lap.  "  I  thought  you  might  en- 
joy them,"  he  remarked,  and,  drawing 
up  a  chair,  seated  himself  slightly  be- 
hind her. 

That  was  a  night  of  nights  for  Ann. 
As  the  tragedy  of  Lear  unfolded  itself 
on  the  stage  she  lost  consciousness  of 
her  surroundings.  She  knew  nothing  of 
the  many  glances  turned  on  her  and  her 
sister,  of  the  fact  that  Lady  Betty  and 
Sir  John,  sitting  in  the  background,  spent 
the  time  giggling  and  gossiping  and  tak- 
ing snuff,  nor  that  Peggy,  worn-out  by  the 
glitter  and  excitement,  sat  bolt  upright  in 
her  chair  in  the  front  of  the  box,  sound 
asleep. 

When  at  last  the  curtains  were  drawn 
on  the  final  scene,  the  repressed  tears 
streamed  from  Ann's  eyes,  and  she 
sobbed  aloud. 

Mr.  Dashwood  only  observed  her. 
He  wrapped  her  cloak  around  her,  took 


A  Georgian  Actress  127 

the  bag  of  oranges,  and  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm. 

Sir  John  and  Lady  Betty  roused  Peggy 
and  followed  the  other  two  out.  Outside 
the  confusion  was  so  great  that,  after  vainly 
trying  to  find  a  coach  or  chair,  they  decided 
to  walk  to  the  coffee-house  several  squares 
away. 

The  cool  breeze  dried  Ann's  tears,  but 
she  continued  to  tremble  with  nervousness. 
She  was  in  an  exalted  mood.  Wonder- 
ful plans  flitted  through  her  mind.  "  I, 
too,"  she  breathed,  raising  her  face  to  the 
starry  sky,  "  I,  too,  some  day.  Oh,  Ma- 
dame, do  you  look  down  and  see  me  here 
where  I  so  longed  to  be !  " 

"It  is  not  much  farther  now,"  said  Mr. 
Dashwood,  whose  arm  she  still  held. 

Back  of  them  came  the  rest  of  their 
party. 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  Garrick,  Mr. 
Dashwood  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Many  times,"  he  answered ;  "  one  can- 
not say  which  is  the  more  charming  of  the 
two,  he  himself,  or  his  wife.  She  was 
wondrous  beautiful  when  young.  Zoffany 


128  A  Georgian  Actress 

painted  her  picture.  They  said  that  to 
see  her  dance  played  upon  the  emotions 
like  sweetest  music.  In  her  way  she  was 
said  to  be  as  great  as  her  husband,  and 
then  she  is  so  charming  and  gentle." 

"  I  do  not  believe  any  one  could  be  as 
great  as  Mr.  Garrick,"  cried  Ann,  with 
such  pretty  enthusiasm  that  her  companion 
was  wholly  captivated,  "  and  if  you  will 
pardon  me  for  contradicting  you,  sir,  no 
one  could  be  as  charming.  I  could  scarce 
keep  from  weeping  to-night;  indeed,  I 
will  admit  it  to  you,  for  I  fear  you  saw 
me,  I  did  shed  a  tear  or  two." 

"  Or  three,"  put  in  Mr.  Dashwood, 
"  or  four.  Nay,  I  swear  I  counted 
four  pearly  drops." 

She  blushed.  "  Oh,  sir,  I  fear  you 
will  think  me  lacking  in  worldly  experience 
that  I  should  weep  with  such  ease  !  " 

"  Nay,"  he  answered,  "  I  do  but  admire 
your  possession  of  so  tender  a  heart. 
Why,  so  exquisite  are  the  sensibilities  of 
Garrick,  that  often  he  works  himself  up 
into  such  a  frenzy  that  the  tears  stream 
from  his  eyes.  I  have  never  yet  wept  at  the 


A  Georgian  Actress  129 

play,  for  I  cannot  delude  myself  into  the 
belief  that  'tis  real,  but  sometimes,  when 
watching  the  sunset  or  gazing  at  the  stars, 
I  have  felt  the  tears  rise,  and  I  think  on 
the  poems  I  mean  to  write  some  day. 
They  say  that  Shakespeare  is  not  more 
admired  nowadays  for  writing  his  plays 
than  little  Garrick  is  for  acting  them. 
And  'tis  true.  But  envy  speaks,  too,  and 
though  the  speech  sounds  fair  enough  on 
the  surface,  jealousy  turns  it  sour.  How- 
ever, I  never  had  the  stomach  some  have 
against  play-actor  people.  Why  not  that 
as  well  as  a  painter,  why  not  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  echoed  Ann,  loyally. 

"And  did  you  notice,"  asked  Mr. 
Dashwood,  "  with  what  expressiveness  he 
raised  his  eyebrows  or  darted  a  fiery 
glance,  or  tore  at  his  hair,  or,  anon,  nodded 
in  pensive  mood  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  observe,"  she  said,  regret- 
fully, "  for  Garrick  seemed  not  Garrick  to 
me,  only  Lear,  and  I  wept  for  the  poor  old 
man.  Hereafter  I  shall  take  more  notice 
of  his  gestures,  for  I  am  going  to  be 
an  —  " 


130  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Hush,"  said  he,  with  a  droll  glance, 
putting  his  finger  to  his  lips,  "  don't  let 
my  Aunt  Betty  hear."  And  then  he 
laughed  with  such  heartiness  that  she  was 
puzzled.  "  Here  we  are  at  last,"  he 
added,  turning  to  look  for  the  rest  of 
their  party. 

They  took  seats  in  one  of  the  wooden 
stalls  that  lined  the  room,  and  which,  giv- 
ing some  small  degree  of  privacy,  at  the 
same  time  enabled  them  to  see  the  other 
people  sitting  at  the  general  tables.  At 
these  public  tables  were  to  be  seen  chiefly 
young  barristers,  and  merchants,  and 
country  gentlemen,  who  gathered  at  the 
coffee-house  to  discuss  the  play.  These 
conversations  were  always  given  in  a  loud 
voice  for  the  benefit  of  the  listeners  in  the 
stalls. 

Mr.  Dashwood  pointed  out  a  strange, 
rough-looking  old  man  with  a  red  face. 
He  was  the  centre  of  a  group  of  young 
men,  who  now  and  then  burst  into  loud 
laughter  at  his  sallies,  which,  in  contrast  to 
their  own  utterances,  were  given  in  a  tone 
inaudible  to  the  occupants  of  the  stall. 


A  Georgian  Actress  131 

This  man,  Mr.  Dashwood  explained,  was 
a  physician  of  remarkable  talent,  which 
had  been  dissipated  by  too  great  indul- 
gence of  the  theatre  and  a  love  of  con- 
viviality, so  that  now  he  had  descended  to 
being  merely  a  physician  for  play-actors, 
and  spent  his  whole  time  tippling  and 
gossiping  at  the  taverns,  where  his  wit 
drew  around  him  many  young  profes- 
sional men.  While  he  thus  pointed  out 
different  people  of  note  to  Ann  and  Peggy 
as  they  waited  for  their  supper,  Lady 
Betty  showed  Sir  John  a  new  trick  at 
cards. 

Later,  as  they  were  eating  and  drinking 
with  much  merriment,  the  two  girls  were 
startled  to  hear  Lady  Betty  swear  roundly 
at  the  waiter  for  spilling  a  dish  of  gravy 
on  her  gown. 

Neither  of  the  young  men  appeared 
surprised,  and  Sir  John  tittered. 

"  A  pox  on  you  for  laughing !  "  cried 
she,  angrily.  "I'd  like  to  cuff  your  im- 
pudent ears,  John  !  "  Though  she  ate 
more  heartily  than  any  of  them,  her  good- 
nature did  not  return,  so  it  was  a  relief 


132  A  Georgian  Actress 

when  she  rose  abruptly  and  announced 
that  she  was  tired  and  was  going  home  to 
bed. 

They  called  a  coach  and  piled  in.  Mr. 
Dashwood  sat  on  the  box  with  the  driver, 
owing  to  the  lack  of  room  inside.  They 
stopped  first  at  the  White  Swan,  and  there 
Sir  John  and  his  sisters  got  out.  Mr. 
Dashwood  leaned  down  from  the  box  to 
hand  Ann  the  bag  of  oranges.  She  saw 
the  outline  of  his  head  with  its  cocked  hat 
and  his  fluttering  cape  dark  against  the 
starlit  sky,  and  though  she  could  not 
distinguish  his  features,  she  knew  his 
expression  corresponded  to  the  pleasant 
tones  of  his  voice  as  he  bade  her  good 
night. 

The  two  girls,  after  they  undressed, 
divided  and  ate  one  of  the  oranges,  and 
then  turned  the  remainder  of  the  fruit  out 
on  a  plate.  They  found  a  note  addressed 
to  Ann  in  the  bottom  of  the  bag. 

Wonderingly  she  opened  it,  and  the 
two  read  it,  sitting  in  their  long  white 
nightgowns  on  the  edge  of  the  bed.  It 
contained  a  poem  entitled  The  Honey 


A  Georgian  Actress  133 

and  the  Flies  and  held  many  allusions 
to  gallant  lovers  hovering  about  a  myste- 
rious fair  lady,  as  flies  about  a  honey-jar. 
The  poem  was  signed : 

"  Madame, 

««Yr.  Admir'g  &  Obedt.  Servant, 

"  ANTHONY  DASHWOOD." 

"  It's  most  queer,"  said  Peggy,  puz- 
zled. "  What  does  he  mean  ?  I  never 
liked  poetry.  Oh,  don't  you  wish  it  were 
honey  ?  Do  you  remember  how  good  it 
used  to  taste  when  the  Indian  women 
brought  it  to  the  castle  ?  Let  us  snuff 
the  candle  now  and  climb  into  bed. 
Then,  dear  Ann,  will  you  not  tell  me  the 
story  old  Naukoska  used  to  tell  us  about 
the  red  squirrel  ?  'Tis  late,  yet  I  am  not 
sleepy,  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Ann,  "  that  is  because 
it  is  past  our  usual  bedtime.  Madame 
would  say  so,  were  she  here.  That  is 
wondrous  beautiful  poetry,  though  you 
don't  understand  it." 

Peggy  climbed  up  into  the  high-cano- 
pied bed,  and  sank  down  into  the  puffy 


134  A  Georgian  Actress 

feather  mattress  with  a  shiver  of  delight  at 
the  chilly  softness.  "  The  maid  did  not 
come  with  the  warming-pan  to-night,  and 
the  sheets  are  nice  and  cold,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

Ann  crept  into  the  bed  and  put  her 
arms  around  her.  "  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
a  secret,  Peggy,"  she  said,  "  but  you  must 
never  tell  John,  lest  he  tease  me.  Mr. 
Dashwood  meant  that  I  was  the  honey  in 
his  poem." 

"Oh,  dear  Ann,"  cried  little  Peggy, 
laughing,  "  you  are  so  sleepy  that  you  do 
not  know  what  you  are  saying.  How 
could  you  be  the  honey  ?  But  it  was  a 
queer  jingle.  It  surprises  me  not  that  it 
did  confuse  you.  And  now  that  I'm  in 
bed,  I've  changed  my  mind  about  hearing 
the  story  of  the  red  squirrel,  and  think  it 
would  be  nicer  to  turn  over  and  go  to 
sleep." 

That  night  she  dreamed  old  Naukoska 
came  to  her  bedside  and  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  she  went  with  him,  all  in  her 
white  nightgown  and  barefooted,  to  a 
forest  where  they  followed  a  winding  path 


A  Georgian  Actress  135 

shadowed  by  trees,  until  they  came  to  a 
small,  clear  space  of  velvet  greenness.  In 
the  middle  was  a  wonderful  golden  dome. 
This,  Naukoska  told  her,  was  where  all 
the  honey  in  the  world  came  from.  She 
picked  a  twig,  and  was  about  to  thrust  it 
into  the  honey  to  get  a  taste  of  it  when 
she  awoke. 

The  next  day  she  told  this  dream  to 
the  Indians,  and  they  assured  her  that  it 
was  an  omen  of  plenty.  From  that  time 
homesickness  waxed  strong  in  the  little 
maid's  heart,  and  in  secret  she  pined 
much,  unknown  to  Ann  and  John. 


Chapter  VIII 

SOON  the  arrival  of  young  Sir  John 
Johnson's  two  pretty  sisters  was  a 
popular  subject  of  conversation  at  the 
coffee-houses,  which  took  the  place  of 
clubs  for  the  man  about  town.  Some 
officers  who  had  visited  their  father  in  his 
American  wilds,  and  heard  of  the  two 
girls  reared  in  such  mysterious  seclusion, 
added  piquant  details  to  the  current  gos- 
sip. The  three,  in  company  with  the 
Indians,  were  often  to  be  seen  taking  an 
airing  on  the  green  of  a  pleasant  morning. 

George  III.  signified  his  desire  to  meet 
them  and  the  chiefs  at  the  next  drawing- 
room.  They  were  to  attend  court  half 
an  hour  before  the  formal  opening  of  the 
evening  entertainment. 

Lady  Betty  herself  selected  the  girls' 
dresses,  and  sent  her  own  maid  and  a  pro- 
fessional hair-dresser  to  help  them.  She 
136 


A  Georgian  Actress  137 

called  before  they  started  to  see  that  the 
finishing  touches  were  correct.  They 
were  ready  and  waiting  when  she  arrived, 
Ann  in  a  glow  of  excitement,  and  Peggy 
inclined  to  be  cross  because  her  sister 
would  not  permit  her  to  sit  down  for  fear 
she  would  disturb  the  folds  of  her  skirt. 

"  Tut,  child,"  reproved  Lady  Betty, 
"  if  you  mind  your  good  looks  so  little 
you'll  not  bag  the  game  you  might.  Men 
may  sigh  and  ogle  a  country  wench  with  a 
big  waist  and  a  milk-white  skin,  and  write 
verses  to  the  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream, 
but  when  it  comes  to  marrying,  then 
good-by,  my  pretty  maid  !  'Tis  a  woman 
of  fashion,  they  cry.  I  know  'em,  a  worth- 
less lot.  Eh,  John  ?  Stand  in  the  centre 
of  the  room.  Now,  my  dears,  turn 
around  slowly." 

The  hair-dresser,  Lady  Betty's  woman 
and  Sir  John,  each  held  a  candle  high 
that  the  light  might  fall  on  the  two  girls 
and  enable  her  to  discover  any  needed 
touches  in  their  toilet. 

They  were  in  truth  a  lovely  pair.  Their 
hair,  arranged  in  the  new  fashion  set  by 


138  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  young  queen,  fell  in  ringlets  around 
their  faces.  Ann's  slender  figure  carried 
well  the  hoops  then  in  vogue.  But  the 
fashion  which  so  became  her  made  of 
Peggy  as  quaint  a  little  Dutch  figure  as  if 
she  had  but  just  stepped  from  the  frame 
of  an  old  master.  Both  wore  white  brocade, 
with  the  sole  difference  that  Ann's  quilted 
under-petticoat  was  embroidered  in  silver 
thread,  and  Peggy's  was  in  gold.  They 
had  put  on  the  pearls  and  jewelled  orna- 
ments they  had  found  among  Madame 
Van  Vrankin's  things  after  her  death,  and 
which  they  believed  to  have  been  their 
mother's.  There  was  a  pearl  stomacher 
which  Peggy  wore. 

They  started  for  the  royal  palace  just 
at  twilight,  when  the  flickering  street-lamps 
seemed  to  struggle  palely  with  the  linger- 
ing day,  and  the  streets  were  filled  with 
people  returning  home  from  work.  The 
girls  were  startled  by  the  rough  fellows 
and  market-women,  who  followed  the 
sedan-chair  in  which  they  were,  and  peered 
in  at  them  through  the  glass  door,  and 
jostled  the  bearers,  who  swore  roundly. 


A  Georgian  Actress  139 

After  a  little,  however,  they  perceived 
that  the  glances  and  remarks  were  good- 
natured  and  admiring,  and  so  they  were 
no  longer  alarmed. 

Sir  John,  attired  in  saffron  satin  and 
velvet  coat,  was  borne  in  the  chair  behind. 
But  the  comments  the  three  evoked  were 
slight  to  those  occasioned  by  the  Indians, 
who  scornfully  refused  to  be  carried,  and 
strode  in  single  file  after  the  chairs.  They 
were  dressed  in  all  the  insignia  of  their 
rank,  and  were  carrying  their  gifts  to  the 
king. 

On  arriving  at  the  palace,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  the  drawing-room,  where  they 
were  at  once  announced. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  long  room 
was  a  group  of  people.  As  they  advanced, 
a  stout  young  man  stepped  forward  to  meet 
them.  Not  until  her  brother  knelt  and 
kissed  the  stranger's  hand,  did  Ann  real- 
ise that  this  pudgy-faced  young  gentle- 
man was  George  III.  She  curtsied.  As 
she  looked  around  for  Peggy,  she  was 
mortified  to  perceive  that  the  little  maid, 
forgetting  to  curtsey,  had  dropped  be- 


140  A  Georgian  Actress 

hind  with  the  Indians,  and,  following  their 
example,  was  staring  solemnly  about  her. 

His  Majesty  then  spoke  to  the  chiefs, 
and  Owhera  replied  for  his  fellows  and 
himself  in  stilted  but  dignified  English. 
The  king  then  requested  him  to  speak 
in  his  own  language,  and  listened  with 
much  amusement  to  the  guttural  sounds, 
which  were  afterward  translated  for  him. 

The  eldest  warrior  then  took  off  the 
beautiful  wampum  collar  he  wore,  and  put 
it  around  his  Majesty's  neck.  The  second 
chief  stepped  forward,  and  laid  lightly 
around  the  shoulders  of  his  royal  host  a 
magnificent  Buffalo  robe.  The  inner  skin 
of  this  robe  was  embroidered  with  bril- 
liant porcupine  quills,  and  further  orna- 
mented by  painted  scenes,  recording  the 
warrior's  important  adventures  while  hunt- 
ing and  fishing.  Owhera  then  presented 
his  gift  of  a  polished  bow  and  quiver  of 
arrows. 

They  were  then  taken  to  the  queen, 
who  was  the  centre  of  the  group  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room.  Ann  was  much 
disappointed  in  her  appearance.  She  had 


A  Georgian  Actress  141 

a  rosy  face,  with  a  nose  that  turned  up. 
Her  auburn  ringlets  were  confined  by 
a  circlet  of  diamonds,  and  she  wore  also 
a  diamond  stomacher.  A  fair  little  page 
supported  her  train. 

Their  Majesties  were  as  delighted  with 
the  Indians  as  with  new  toys.  The  young 
ladies-in-waiting  clustered  around,  giving 
little  gasps  and  small  shrieks,  when  the 
dusky  visitors  chanced  to  glance  at  them. 
Before  it  was  time  for  the  public  drawing- 
room  to  begin,  tea  on  a  silver  waiter  was 
brought  in,  and  all  partook  of  this  light 
refreshment,  a  dish  of  tea  being  given 
first  to  the  queen  by  one  of  the  young 
ladies,  who  presented  it  kneeling.  Chairs 
were  then  arranged,  as  there  was  to  be 
music. 

Soon  the  room  was  filled,  and  the  enter- 
tainment began.  Their  Majesties  and  the 
other  members  of  the  royal  household 
sat  in  the  front  row  of  chairs.  The  ladies 
who  came  occupied  the  remaining  chairs, 
while  the  gentlemen  stood  back  of  them, 
or  leaned  against  the  side  walls.  Just  before 
the  music  commenced,  Sir  John  sent  the 


142  A  Georgian  Actress 

Indians  home,  and  George  III.  took  off, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  buffalo  robe  and 
wampum  collar  in  which  he  had  been 
sweltering  for  the  sake  of  policy,  rather 
than  courtesy,  for  he  knew  well  the  impor- 
tance of  the  Indians'  favour  should  the 
trouble  now  brewing  in  the  Colonies 
terminate  in  war. 

While  the  music  was  going  on,  Ann, 
who  had  an  end  seat,  noticed  near  her  a 
little  gentleman  in  an  exaggerated  white 
wig,  a  scarlet  coat,  and  a  waistcoat  with 
gold  peaks.  He  leaned  against  the  wall 
with  folded  arms.  Now,  he  dropped  his 
head  upon  his  breast  like  one  deep  in  seri- 
ous thought,  or  smiled  as  at  some  secret 
jest,  again  glanced  upward  as  if  enraptured 
by  the  music.  Suddenly,  attracted  by  her 
intense  look,  he  turned,  and  she  met  the 
direct  gaze  of  his  wonderful  eyes,  large, 
black,  and  more  brilliant  than  any  she  had 
ever  seen. 

When  the  performance  ceased  and 
chairs  were  pushed  aside,  she,  forgetful  of 
all  else,  stepped  forward  to  greet  Mr. 
Garrick. 


A  Georgian  Actress  143 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  she,  "  I  have  seen  you 
play,"  and  then,  forgetful  of  all  else,  so 
content  was  she  merely  to  look  at  him, 
she  stood  smiling,  her  sweet  face  illumined 
by  the  admiration  that  rilled  her. 

George  III,  had  been  an  ordinary  and 
far  from  attractive  person  to  her,  but  now 
at  last  she  stood  before  him  who  was  a 
king  in  very  truth  in  her  sight,  although 
his  kingdom  lay  behind  the  foot  lights 
and  his  crown  was  paste,  and  he  had 
"  played  with  a  straw  for  a  sceptre." 

Mr.  Garrick,  his  hand  to  his  heart, 
bowed  low.  So  delicate  were  his  suscep- 
tibilities, so  deeply  he  felt  this  tribute 
to  his  genius,  that  his  eyes  grew  moist. 

"  Madame,  you  do  me  great  honour.  1 
thank  you  upon  my  knees,  so  to  speak." 

As  she  was  ^about  to  reply,  Sir  John 
approached. 

"  I  see  you  have  met  Mr.  Garrick,"  he 
remarked.  "  Sir,"  turning  to  the  actor, 
"  since  first  she  did  set  eyes  on  you  it  has 
been  Garrick  this  and  Garrick  that,  Garrick 
here  and  Garrick  there,  in  short,  Garrick 
everywhere  !  I  have  heard  your  virtues, 


144  A  Georgian  Actress 

your  charms,  dinged  in  my  ears  till,  had  it 
not  been  for  my  real  admiration  for  you, 
I  should  have  fled  your  praises.  Yes, 
sir,  I  should  have  fled  'em  !  I'll  leave 
you  in  your  present  good  company,  Ann, 
for  I  want  to  talk  to  an  old  flame  of 
mine  who  turned  green  with  envy  when 
she  saw  me  with  Peggy." 

Mr.  Garrick  had  looked  uncomfortable 
during  the  first  part  of  Sir  John's  speech, 
for  fear  he  was  ridiculing  him,  but  smiled 
less  doubtfully  when  he  finished. 

"  Will  you  not  do  me  the  honour  of 
taking  my  arm,  Lady  Johnson,"  he  asked, 
"  and  we  will  promenade  the  length  of  the 
room.  It  is  a  real  grief  to  me,"  he  con- 
tinued, as  they  fell  into  step,  "  that  there 
are  so  few  who  appreciate  the  worthy 
lesson  the  stage  teaches  ;  still,  the  gentry  is 
setting  an  example  to  the  lower  classes  by 
preferring  a  well-acted  drama  to  a  vulgar 
spectacular  exhibition.  Now,  in  America, 
I  understand  the  theatre  is  quite  good." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  "  for  I 
never  was  in  a  play  house  until  the  other 
night." 


A  Georgian  Actress  145 

"  Well,  to  confess  the  truth,"  admitted 
her  companion,  "  I  never  heard  anything 
about  the  American  stage,  but  I  always 
sincerely  endeavour  to  evince  an  interest 
in  a  foreign  country  when  I  meet  a  native 
of  the  place.  Unlike  most  Englishmen, 
when  I  go  to  France  I  don't  hold  myself 
aloof,  but  try  to  learn  the  manners  and 
customs  of  that  nation.  Ah,  they,  the 
French  people,  could  not  shower  enough 
praise  on  me,  so  courteous,  so  cordial ! 
Yet  do  not  mistake  me.  'Twas  my  art 
alone  won  this  flattering  attention.  But 
Mrs.  Garrick,  that  best  of  wives,  will  have 
it  that  'twas  I  personally  they  sought  to 
honour."  He  laughed  quite  heartily  at 
this  little  jest.  "  Though  I  admit,"  he 
added,  "  there  was  some  ridiculous  non- 
sense written  home  to  the  papers  about 
the  Marquis  So-and-So  and  other  persons 
of  quality  giving  dinners  for  me." 

Thus  they  strolled  up  and  down  the 
room,  he  chatting  of  light  matters  until 
she  timidly  returned  to  the  subject  of  the 
stage.  Then  she  struck  fire,  and  he  spoke 
with  a  brilliancy  and  enthusiasm  that 


146  A  Georgian  Actress 

enchanted  her.  Seldom  again  did  their 
conversation  descend  to  the  personal  or 
commonplace. 

"  But  I  see  you  are  becoming  fagged," 
he  said,  at  last,  conducting  her  to  a  quiet 
corner.  "  I'll  go  and  get  you  a  dish  of  tea." 

She  watched  his  graceful  little  scarlet 
figure  threading  its  way  among  the  guests, 
then,  losing  sight  of  him,  turned  to  find 
Peggy  at  her  side  with  a  slender,  erect 
gentleman  of  middle  age,  who  looked  like 
an  invalid.  His  ghastly  pale  complexion 
was  intensified  by  his  bright  dark  eyes. 
His  expression  seemed  a  mixture  of  malice 
and  sweetness.  In  his  fingers  knotted  by 
gout  he  held  a  snuff-box.  He  was  dressed 
throughout  in  lavender. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Walpole,"  said  Peggy. 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  the  music  ?  "  he 
asked  Ann,  smiling  with  much  sweetness. 
"  Since  the  new  queen  came  'tis  nothing 
but  twing,  twing,  twang." 

"  I  liked  it,"  she  answered,  shyly,  a  little 
intimidated  by  him. 

"  The  queen  has  quite  set  the  fashion  in 
music,"  he  went  on,  "  indeed  she  strums 


A  Georgian  Actress  147 

herself.  I  hope  you  do  not.  I  never 
could  understand  why  it  was  that  to  be 
able  to  strum  a  few  tunes  should  be  con- 
sidered such  an  accomplishment.  What 
did  you  think  of  her  Majesty  ?  Very 
genteel,  eh,  but  not  at  all  pretty  ?  I 
distinctly  saw  a  shade  of  disappointment 
pass  over  the  face  of  the  king  when  he 
first  saw  her." 

Ann  smiled  vaguely,  at  a  loss  for  a 
reply. 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  your 
father  some  years  ago,"  continued  Mr. 
Walpole.  "  Do  tell  me  is't  true  he  has 
an  Indian  wife  ?  " 

She  nodded,  but  could  not  speak.  A 
burning  flush  spread  over  her  face. 

"There  was  a  woman  asked  me  that, 
too,  to-night,"  put  in  Peggy.  "  She  wanted 
to  know  if  my  father's  wife  dressed  in 
skins.  She  whispered  it  to  me  during 
the  music  behind  her  fan.  She  sat  on 
the  other  side  of  me,  Ann." 

"  How  impudent,"  cried  Mr.  Walpole. 
"  And  pray  what  did  you  tell  Madame 
Pry  ? " 


148  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  I  told  her  they  wore  blankets,  and 
then  I  looked  away,"  answered  Peggy. 

"  Speaking  of  Indians,"  went  on  Mr. 
Walpole,  "  reminds  me.  Is  it  true  that 
the  Bostonians  have  actually  written  and 
not  only  invited  but  begged  the  Pretender 
to  come  over  and  put  himself  at  their 
head  if  the  Colonies  should  rebel  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  so,"  answered  Ann. 

"  I've  no  doubt  they  did,"  he  rejoined, 
"  they're  so  sly."  He  opened  and  passed 
her  his  snuff-box.  "  Do  have  a  pinch. 
It's  cafe-au-lait  and  all  the  rage  in  Paris." 

She  refused,  for  the  fashion  was  an 
offensive  one  to  her.  Peggy  took  some, 
however. 

"You  must  pardon  my  tardiness," 
spoke  Mr.  Garrick,  appearing  suddenly 
at  Ann's  elbow  with  the  tea,  and  look- 
ing slightly  dishevelled,  "  but  Lady  Betty 
Fitzhugh  must  go  and  plant  herself 
right  in  the  doorway  and  refuse  to 
budge  until  she  got  a  dish  of  syllabub. 
There  I  was  with  the  people  behind 
pushing,  and  she  never  moving.  So  un- 
genteel !  Ah,  good-evening,  Mr.  Wai- 


A  Georgian  Actress  149 

pole,"  arching  his  brows, "  I  see  you  have 
met  this  charming  young  lady.  And 
pray,  who  is — "  he  paused  and  glanced 
at  Peggy. 

"It  is  my  sister  Peggy,"  answered 
Ann. 

"  Peggy  -? "  repeated  Mr.  Walpole, 
"  Peggy  ?  Ah,  ha,  my  dear  Garrick,  now 
why  are  you  blushing?  That  fiery  hue 
would  shame  a  schoolboy."  He  hummed, 
laughing : 

«« '  The  sun  first  rising  in  the  morn 

That  paints  the  dew-bespangled  lawn 
Does  not  so  much  the  day  adorn, 
As  does  my  lovely  Peggy.'  " 

He  coughed  delicately  and  touched 
his  lips  with  his  lace  kerchief.  "  Let  me 
see.  The  next  verse  runs  something  like 
this: 

"  *  While  bees  from  flower  to  flower  shall  rove, 
And  linnets  warble  through  the  grove, 
As  stately  swans  the  river  love, 
So  long  shall  I  love  Peggy.'  " 

"Sir,"  said  the  actor,  "your  wit  is  no 
less  sharp  than  your  sentiment  is  vulgar. 


150  A  Georgian  Actress 

Those  verses  were  falsely  accredited  to 
me.  I  never  wrote  them."  His  sensi- 
tive face  was  all  in  a  quiver.  "  I  beg  you 
will  excuse  me,  Lady  Johnson.  Mrs. 
Garrick  is  waiting  for  me."  And  he 
bowed  himself  away. 

"  Why  did  you  sing  that,  Mr.  Wai- 
pole?"  asked  Ann,  distressed. 

He  laughed.  "  'Tis  said  he  wrote  those 
verses  to  Peg  Woffington  when  he  was 
enamoured  of  her.  Every  one  knows  she 
jilted  him.  <What,'  said  she,  'am  I  to 
wed  a  Hop  o'  my  Thumb  ? '  He  wears 
false  heels  to  make  him  taller,  you  know." 

"  How  could  she  be  so  unkind  ? "  cried 
Ann.  "  I  do  not  see  how  any  one  could 
refuse  to  marry  such  a  great  man." 

"  For  my  part,"  retorted  Mr.  Walpole, 
"  I  never  could  understand  why  people 
thought  it  took  such  marvellous  talent  to 
repeat  the  works  of  others  in  one's  own 
language.  And  there  are  those  who  say 
Garrick  is  too  affected  for  anything,  with 
his  French  airs.  You  can't  tell  me  he 
hasn't  French  blood  in  him.  His  wife  is 
much  more  elegant.  By  the  way,  she  is 


A  Georgian  Actress  151 

Lord  Somebody's  daughter,  as  I  always 
supposed.  She  never  looked  like  an 
ordinary  dancing  girl." 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Walpole,"  said 
Lady  Betty,  joining  them.  "  My  love," 
beaming  on  Ann,  "  they  say  you  and 
Peggy  are  going  to  be  all  the  rage." 

"Tis  true,"  said  Mr.  Walpole,  "they 
say  you  have  so  turned  the  heads  of  our 
beaux  that  they  do  naught  but  ogle  and 
sigh  beneath  your  windows.  Our  beauties 
are  apt  to  scratch  out  your  eyes." 

Ann,  remembering  the  poem  of  'The 
Honey  and  the  Flies,  could  not  help 
blushing. 

They  all  laughed  at  her  colour,  and  then 
Mr.  Walpole  bade  them  good  evening. 
<f  Don't  fall  in  love  with  Garrick,"  he 
warned,  shaking  his  forefinger  archly  at 
Ann.  "  Be  a  little  on  your  guard.  Re- 
member he  is  an  actor." 

He  extended  his  snuff-box  to  Lady 
Betty  and  then  to  Sir  John,  who  had  just 
come  up.  When  they  had  helped  them- 
selves he  placed  the  box  in  Peggy's 
hands. 


152  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  I  beg  that  you 
will  keep  this  mere  trifle  to  remember  me 
by.  And  I  trust  that  when  I  return  from 
my  prospective  journey  on  the  Continent 
you  will  all  drink  coffee  with  me  on 
Strawberry  Hill.  I  see  their  Majesties 
have  at  last  had  the  goodness  to  retire,  so 
I  wish  you  a  very  good  night."  Then 
with  that  charming  smile,  so  maliciously 
sweet,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  heart  and 
hummed : 

"  '  And  when  Death  with  his  pointed  dart 
Shall  strike  the  blow  that  rives  my  heart, 
My  words  shall  be,  when  I  depart, 
Adieu,  my  lovely  Peggy  ! '  " 

He  bowed  and  kissed  the  little  maid's 
finger-tips. 


Chapter    IX 

SO  easily  Ann  assimilated  with  society, 
that  soon  the  peculiarities  of  Madame 
Van  Vrankin's  influence  and  training  were 
not  to  be  noticed  in  her  manner.  Often 
she  was  offended  by  the  oaths,  which  the 
women  quite  as  well  as  the  men,  used, 
and  she  never  could  accustom  herself  to 
the  red  and  white  paint  her  own  sex 
employed  so  freely;  but  she  learned  to 
play  cards,  although  her  interest  in  the 
games  was  more  courteous  than  real.  She 
sometimes  accompanied  her  brother  to 
small  gay  parties  given  at  one  or  another 
of  the  popular  country  inns,  whose  dis- 
tance from  town  gave  opportunity  for  a 
pleasant  drive.  And  such  was  her  beauty 
and  innocent  enjoyment  of  much  that  in 
itself  was  coarse,  but  the  vulgarity  of 
which  she  never  perceived,  and  such  Sir 
John's  wit  and  ready  money,  as  well  as  the 
153 


154  A  Georgian  Actress 

romance  with  which  the  gossips'  tongues 
invested  them,  that  they  became  the  lions 
of  the  hour. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  gaiety,  moods 
of  loneliness  often  visited  Ann,  moods  in 
which  she  looked  back  with  wistful  wonder 
at  her  old  self.  That  past  of  dreams  and 
inspiration,  and  the  present  with  its  whirl 
of  pleasure,  were  widely  separated.  Her 
once  beloved  volume  of  Shakespeare  now 
lay  covered  with  dust  on  a  shelf.  This  atti- 
tude was  as  much  an  instinctive  turning 
from  pain  as  it  was  a  seeking  after  pleas- 
ure. To  open  that  well-marked  copy 
of  Shakespeare,  was  like  opening  a  volume 
of  memories  bitter-sweet.  Renewed  grief 
for  the  loss  of  Madame  would  sweep  over 
her;  the  old,  ever  unsatisfied  longing  to 
know  of  her  mother  would  return ;  again 
she  would  think  of  her  father,  his  strange 
second  marriage,  his  many  solitary  days 
among  a  savage  people.  Most  often, 
however,  she  thought  of  that  beautiful 
spring  day,  the  day  of  her  disobedience, 
the  day  her  first  lover  met  her,  and,  above 
all,  the  day  made  sacred  by  Madame's 


A  Georgian  Actress  155 

death.  Her  mind  was  strangely  confused 
in  regard  to  these  events.  Sometimes 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  longing  eyes 
Mr.  Claus  bent  on  her  that  day  had  been 
Madame's  eyes,  or,  again,  as  if  it  were 
his,  rather  than  Madame's,  whose  dying 
gaze  met  hers.  This  fancied  resemblance 
troubled  her. 

Her  nature  was  too  sensitive  and  tender 
to  become  hardened  by  contact  with  the 
world,  but  she  cared  no  longer  to  study, 
and  her  former  ideals  became  vague.  After 
the  first  keen  delight  the  novelty  her  pres- 
ent life  brought,  she  became  restless,  and 
turned  unsatisfied  from  one  pleasure  to  an- 
other. It  was  to  Garrick  that  she  owed  the 
fact  of  still  cherishing  dimly  her  ambition 
to  become  a  play-actress.  She  never  rose 
from  having  seen  him  play,  without  feel- 
ing a  sense  of  exaltation  that  gave  her  a 
far  more  exquisite  happiness  than  any 
society  afforded.  She  met  him  seldom, 
and  then  only  at  public  affairs,  which 
afforded  no  opportunity  for  sustained  con- 
versation. His  leisure  moments  were 
generally  spent  at  the  coffee-houses  in 


156  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  company  of  literary  and  professional 
men.  But  whenever  he  met  Ann  to  talk 
to  her,  his  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  her 
dreams,  speaking  to  her  from  out  the  past. 
He  was  said  to  be  affected  off  the  stage, 
but  never  so  on  it.  His  devotion  to  his 
art  passed  beyond  self-consciousness.  He 
divined  in  the  young  girl  an  impersonal 
sympathy  with  what  he  loved  best,  and 
all  that  was  noblest  in  his  fine  and  delicate 
nature  answered  to  it. 

She  shrank  from  mentioning  these  brief 
conversations  to,  her  brother,  fearing  his 
ready  ridicule,  but  she  often  talked  to 
Peggy  nights  after  they  were  in  bed, 
sometimes  waking  the  little  maid  up  to 
do  so. 

Peggy,  on  the  whole,  kept  her  home- 
sickness secret.  She  was  too  stoical  to 
complain ;  still,  there  were  many  times 
when  she  refused  to  accompany  the  other 
two  out  of  an  evening,  and  remained  at 
home  with  her  parrot.  She  sewed  and 
embroidered  much,  for  she  was  not  fond 
of  reading.  Ann,  coming  to  bed  much 
later,  would  sometimes,  on  putting  her  face 


A  Georgian  Actress  157 

down  beside  her  sleeping  sister's,  find  the 
pillow  damp  with  tears.  Then,  self-re- 
proachful, she  would  remain  at  home  for 
several  evenings  in  succession,  or  insist 
that  Peggy  should  go  out  with  her.  But 
soon  they  would  relapse  into  their  old 
ways. 

It  happened  that  Ann  and  Sir  John 
were  returning  late  one  night  from 
a  supper-party  that  had  followed  the 
theatre,  and  were  startled  by  their  chair 
being  rudely  jostled.  Ann,  who  had 
been  half-asleep,  her  cheek  against  her 
brother's  sleeve,  was  frightened  by  the 
shouts  and  sound  of  people  running, 
and  clung  to  him.  The  bearers,  their 
progress  interfered  with,  set  the  chair 
down.  Then  they  heard  a  cry  that  the 
White  Swan  was  on  fire.  In  a  moment 
Sir  John  had  stepped  from  the  chair  to 
the  pavement. 

"  Sit  still  for  God's  sake,  Ann ! "  he 
cried,  pushing  her  back  as  she  would  have 
followed  him.  "  Don't  get  into  this  mob  ! 
Tell  them  to  carry  you  to  Lady  Betty's." 

She  saw    his  flying  figure    in  its    light 


158  A  Georgian  Actress 

dress  reach  the  people  ahead,  pass  them 
and  disappear.  His  training  in  running 
and  wrestling  matches  with  the  Indians 
was  to  stand  him  in  good  stead  this  night. 
She,  disobeying  his  instructions,  stepped 
out  from  the  chair  and  sped  like  a  deer 
down  the  street.  At  the  turn  of  the 
second  square  she  saw  the  red  reflection 
in  the  sky,  another  two  squares  and  she 
came  out  upon  the  orange  mass  of  flames 
dimmed  by  the  whirling  smoke.  Soon 
she  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
surrounding  the  burning  tavern.  She 
pushed  her  way  forward.  Not  a  few  had 
their  attention  attracted  from  the  fire  to 
her  brilliant  figure,  her  white  shoulders 
rising  from  her  laces,  a  fantastic  gleam  of 
pearls  woven  in  her  black  curls. 

A  couple  of  rough  fellows  purposely 
barred  her  way. 

"  I  pray  you  let  me  pass,"  she  cried, 
in  anguish,  "  my  sister  is  there." 

They  laughed  rudely.  One  of  them 
was  about  to  address  her  coarsely,  when  a 
gentleman  flung  him  back  and  at  the  same 
time  stepped  aside  himself. 


A  Georgian  Actress  159 

"  Pass,  madame,"  he  said,  and  she  saw 
that  he  had  drawn  his  sword. 

She  slipped  by  and  stood  within  the 
circle  drawn  by  the  spectators.  Her 
position  put  her  in  danger  of  sparks. 

Then  for  the  first  time  she  saw  Peggy 
standing  in  a  window  of  their  apartment. 
Sir  John,  below,  shouted  directions  to  her. 
The  dear,  white-robed  little  figure  stepped 
upon  the  window  ledge.  The  hot,  bright 
reflection  in  the  air  showed  her  face  serene ; 
her  bare  feet  clung  to  the  ledge. 

"  I  am  going  to  jump,"  she  cried. 

Half  a  hundred  arms  were  raised  to 
catch  her.  Ann's  gaze,  anticipating  her 
leap,  fell.  There  was  a  delay,  a  groan  of 
horror.  She  looked  up  in  terror.  The 
window  was  empty.  The  little  figure  had 
disappeared. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  Peggy  !  "  shouted  Sir 
John. 

"  She  has  gone  back,"  cried  a  voice. 

A  tongue  of  flame  from  the  interior 
leaped  half-across  the  window.  Cries  and 
groans  burst  forth  from  the  excited  mob. 

Sir  John,  heedless  of  the  shouted  warn- 


160  A  Georgian  Actress 

ings,  flung  savagely  aside  those  who 
sought  to  restrain  him,  and  dashed  into 
the  lower  hall  of  the  inn.  He  was  seen 
bounding  up  the  stairway,  keeping  close  to 
the  wall  against  which  it  had  been  built. 
The  light  banister  was  already  in  flames 
at  the  top.  He  disappeared.  An  agony 
of  time  went  by. 

The  crowd,  expectant  of  a  fearful 
tragedy,  watched  in  silence. 

Ann  was  rooted  to  the  spot  on  which 
she  stood.  She  could  not  move,  she 
could  not  pray.  She  felt  that  she,  as  well 
as  Sir  John  and  Peggy,  was  dying.  She 
remembered  her  father  with  anguish. 

It  was  in  reality  only  a  few  moments 
before  Sir  John  was  seen  again.  He  held 
a  blanketed  bundle  in  his  arms.  Cau- 
tiously, step  by  step,  he  descended  the 
stairs,  staggering  once  or  twice  under  his 
burden.  He  kept  close  to  the  inner  wall, 
for  with  the  falling  of  the  burning  banister 
some  of  the  bricks  had  given  way  as  well. 
In  the  blazing  light  those  nearest  could  see 
the  perspiration  rolling  down  his  face.  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairway  he  hesitated,  as 


A  Georgian  Actress  161 

though  his  strength  were  nearly  gone. 
Then,  nerving  himself  afresh,  he  came  on 
over  the  debris  and  fiery  embers.  The 
trailing  end  of  the  blanket  caught  on  a 
board.  He  jerked  in  vain  to  loosen  it, 
then  let  it  slip  to  the  floor.  His  sister 
could  now  be  seen,  her  arms  tight  around 
his  neck,  her  face  hidden  against  his 
shoulder.  A  green  and  red  parrot  flut- 
tered and  screamed  in  a  strange  tongue, 
clinging  by  its  talons  to  the  bosom  of  the 
little  maid's  nightgown.  It  was  to  save 
the  bird  that  she  had  gone  back.  Strong 
hands  reached  in  and  took  Peggy  from  her 
brother's  arms.  They  carried  him  across 
the  street  and  laid  him  on  the  grass.  He 
commenced  crying  hysterically.  His  face 
and  hands  were  blistered,  a  falling  beam 
had  struck  his  shoulder  and  burned 
through  his  clothing.  His  shoes  were 
shrivelled  on  his  feet  and  had  to  be  cut 
away.  Ann  took  the  poor  feet  in  her  lap 
and  cried  over  them.  Fortunately,  a  phy- 
sician happened  to  be  on  the  scene,  and 
he  bound  Sir  John's  burns  up  in  linen 
and  cooling  salve.  She  recognised  him  as 


1 62  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  gentleman  who  had  permitted  her  to 
pass  nearer  to  the  fire  and  had  thrust 
aside  the  rough  fellows  who  delayed  her. 

They  carried  Sir  John  to  the  nearest 
inn,  where  he  was  undressed  and  put  to 
bed.  The  physician,  who  introduced  him- 
self as  Dr.  O'Keefe,  left  directions  for  the 
night  and  departed,  assuring  the  anxious 
sisters  that  there  was  no  need  for  fear. 

Then  Ann  for  the  first  time  remem- 
bered the  Indians.  Filled  with  concern, 
she  hurried  to  the  door,  intending  to  go 
back  to  the  scene  of  the  fire  and  inquire  for 
them.  At  the  threshold  she  stumbled,  and, 
looking  down,  beheld  Owhera  wrapped 
in  his  blanket. 

"  Is  it  you,  Owhera  ?  "  she  cried,  gladly. 
"  Where  are  your  brothers  ?  " 

He  rose,  and,  flinging  his  arm  free  of 
the  blanket,  made  a  wide  and  solemn  ges- 
ture. "  They  sleep  outside  on  the 
ground.  They  say  the  stars  shall  be 
their  roof  and  that  they  sleep  no  more  in 
the  white  man's  wigwam." 

"  'Tis  well,"  she  answered,  humouring 
the  sentiment,  and  pointed  to  the  door 


A  Georgian  Actress  163 

back  of  her.  "  He,  too,  sleeps.  Owhera," 
she  added,  touched  by  his  faithfulness,  "  I 
am  pleased  that  you  watch  at  the  door,  that 
I  may  call  you  if  my  brother  grows  worse." 

In  the  look  he  gave  her  she  read  a 
personal  devotion  that  startled  her.  A 
sudden  thought  of  her  father's  marriage 
came  to  her,  and  she  shrank  away,  fearing 
lest  the  Indian  should  put  into  words  the 
admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"  Good  night,  Owhera.  Tell  your 
brothers  to  fear  not.  The  good  Spirit 
watches  over  them."  Then  she  hastily 
stepped  back  within  her  room  and  shut 
the  door.  She  leaned  against  the  wall,  her 
heart  fluttering  wildly.  She  stood  silent, 
seeking  to  regain  her  composure. 

Peggy,  a  wadded  quilt  wrapped  around 
her  over  her  nightgown,  sat  on  the  edge 
of  her  brother's  bed. 

A  lighted  candle  was  on  the  bureau. 
On  the  top  of  the  mirror  perched  the 
parrot,  its  brilliant  plumage  still  ruffled 
from  excitement. 

Sir  John  was  wakeful,  and  Peggy  sought 
to  amuse  him  by  relating  tales. 


164  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  And  the  elder  brother  became  a  great 
hunter  and  fisher,  and  had  no  time  for  the 
little  brother,"  went  on  the  soft  voice 
telling  the  old  wonderful  tale  of  The 
Wolf  Brother,  "  and  the  sister  wore  fine 
wampum  and  a  dress  made  of  feathers  of 
which  one  was  plucked  from  every  bird 
in  the  forest,  and  she,  too,  did  not  care 
for  the  little  brother.  So  he  ran  away 
into  the  forest  and  turned  into  a  wolf. 
Now,  the  elder  brother  —  " 

"Oh,  Peggy,"  interrupted  Ann,  "you 
must  never  tell  that  story  again  !  Don't 
you  understand  ?  That  is  the  way  we 
were,  John  and  I.  Oh,  Peggy,  you  are 
so  good,  and  you  don't  understand  how 
wicked  I've  been." 

"  Dear  Ann,"  said  Peggy,  wonderingly, 
"you  are  not  wicked.  Do  you  not  like 
me  to  tell  the  story  of  The  Wolf  Brother  ?  " 

Sir  John,  whom  pain  had  made  deliri- 
ous, moved  restlessly. 

"  Who  is  talking  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  hear 
the  ravens  talking  in  the  tree-tops.  Caw, 
caw,  little  sister." 

The  parrot  chattered  wildly. 


A  Georgian  Actress  165 

Peggy  rose  and  tiptoed  across  the  room. 
"  Hush,"  she  whispered,  sternly,  "  hush, 
Terunda,  idle  babbler,  or  I  will  pull  out 
your  beautiful  tail-feathers." 

The  parrot,  comprehending,  fluttered 
down  to  the  floor  and  hopped  across  the 
room  to  a  dark  corner  and  tucked  its 
head  under  its  wing. 

"What  are  they  saying?"  asked  Sir 
John,  querulously. 

"It  was  not  the  ravens,"  answered 
Peggy, "  but  Terunda.  He  says  he  hears 
the  wind  in  the  tree-tops  far,  far  away,  at 
home.  And  the  trees  are  swaying  their 
heads  together,  for  they  have  many 
secrets." 

"  The  green  forest,"  he  murmured. 

"  And  he  says  he  has  perched  in  the 
tallest  tree,  and  far  as  he  could  look  it 
was  like  a  green  sea,  waving,  waving," 
said  Peggy. 

"  It  puts  me  to  sleep,"  said  Sir  John, 
drowsily.  "  It  is  uncommon  green  this 
season,  Peggy.  You  must  call  Ann  to 
come  and  see." 


Chapter  X 

SIR  JOHN'S  burns,  although  painful, 
were  not  serious,  and  he  waived 
magnificently  any  claim  to  bravery. 
But  Peggy,  who  was  uninjured,  drooped 
and  paled  from  the  night  of  the  fire. 

He,  returning  one  morning  from  a 
stroll,  found  her  alone.  He  came  in 
limping  slightly  on  a  cane,  for  one  foot 
was  still  lame.  His  pallor  and  semi- 
invalid  airs  became  him. 

"  Here  are  some  sweetmeats  for  you," 
he  remarked,  laying  a  bag  on  the  table. 
He  went  over  and  sat  down  on  the  arm  of 
her  chair  and  patted  her  cheek.  "Where 
is  Ann  ? " 

tc  She  has  gone  shopping,"  she  answered, 
and  then  without  further  ado  turned  and 
flung  herself  on  his  breast  in  a  paroxysm 
of  sobs. 

166 


A  Georgian  Actress  167 

"  Peggy,  Peggy,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
he  asked,  alarmed. 

"  Take  me  home,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
want  to  go  home." 

"But  why?"  he  said.  "Why  do  you 
wish  to  go  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 

She  raised  her  head  and  stared  out  of 
the  window.  She  dabbed  her  wet  blue 
eyes  with  her  kerchief.  The  cheerful, 
sunshiny  street  was  bright  with  people. 
She  frowned.  "  Nothing  has  happened, 
but  I  am  tired  of  the  world,"  she  said, 
crossly.  "  And  I  want  to  go  home." 

John  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  gave 
her  a  sounding  kiss.  "  I'm  of  like  mind," 
he  cried,  "  and  home  we  go  !  " 

The  door  was  opened  and  admitted 
Lady  Betty  and  Ann,  followed  by  the 
footman,  his  arms  full  of  bundles. 

"  Put  them  on  the  table,  Hawkins," 
directed  Ann,  "  and  then  you  may  go. 
Your  mistress  will  lunch  with  us." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  can't  think  of  it,"  interposed 
Lady  Betty,  "  Tony's  alone,  and  —  " 

"  You  know  you're  going  to  stay," 
laughed  Sir  John. 


1 68  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  If  it  weren't  for  Tony  — "  she  de- 
murred. 

"  Tony  be  hanged!"  cried  he,  "Your 
absence  will  give  the  Lady  Muse  a  chance 
to  visit  him.  If  you  do  stay  we'll  have  a 
salad  up  here  and  some  of  that  good  wine 
and  —  " 

"  Oh,  John,  John,  I  fear  you're  drink- 
ing too  much  for  a  young  man.  Still,  I 
don't  know  that  a  glass  of  wine  ever 
did  me  any  harm.  But  I'm  an  old 
woman." 

"It  never  did  you  a  midget  of  harm," 
said  he,  stoutly,  "  and  if  drank  in  good 
company  I'd  prick  the  whining  parson 
who  denied  it  made  us  jolly." 

"  Do  you  think  the  puce  colour  would 
have  become  you  better  than  this  blue 
tint,  Peggy  dear  ? "  asked  Ann,  smooth- 
ing the  roll  of  silk  in  her  lap.  Since  the 
fire  she  had  been  busy  replacing  her  own 
and  her  sister's  wardrobe.  With  the 
exception  of  the  jewels  and  the  gown  she 
had  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  all  their 
things  were  burned. 

"  I    suppose,"    said    Peggy,  longingly, 


A  Georgian  Actress  169 

"  that  you  will  not  care  to  walk  in  the 
park  with  me  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Walk  in  the  park  with  you  this  after- 
noon !  "  echoed  Ann.  "  My  Lud,  Peggy, 
when  I  have  been  shopping  all  morning ! 
How  inconsiderate  you  are !  I  am  going 
to  lie  down  until  to-night.  How  I  do 
ache !  I  declare,  Lady  Betty,  but  I  was 
amazed  at  the  la-de-da  airs  of  that  man  in 
the  silk-shop.  Would  you  believe  it, 
John,  he  hadn't  a  thing  in  that  shop  that 
pleased  me?  When  I  recall  how  I  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  shopping  before  I 
came  to  London,  I  am  modestly  amazed 
at  my  progress." 

"You  do  very  well,  my  love,"  affirmed 
Lady  Betty,  "and  I  must  also  say,  that 
for  one  having  had  no  experience  and 
having  come,  too,  from  such  a  barbarous 
land,  —  though  no  blame  attaches  to  you 
for  that,  of  course, —  I  must  say  you  have 
a  very  genteel  taste," 

"  Then  you  do  not  wish  to  walk  in  the 
park,  this  afternoon,"  repeated  Peggy. 

Ann  gave  her  an  indignant  glance. 
"  How  can  you  act  so,  Peggy  ?  Here 


170  A  Georgian  Actress 

I've  been  shopping  for  you  until  I  ache 
from  head  to  foot,  and  you  show  no  grati- 
tude. You  used  to  be  so  sweet  and  oblig- 
ing - —  "  She  interrupted  herself  to  smile 
and  bow  to  some  one  passing  by  in  the 
street. 

Sir  John  leaned  forward  to  look  out  of 
the  window  and  see  to  whom  she  bowed. 
Then  he  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair 
and  laughed  uproariously.  "  Why  don't 
you  get  a  handsome,  vigorous  fellow  like 
me  for  a  beau  ?  "  he  cried.  "  I  could  twist 
the  neck  of  that  little  whipper-snapper 
with  two  fingers." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Lady  Betty,  who  had 
peeked  out  behind  the  curtain  to  see  who 
the  young  man  might  be,  "  he's  a  great 
catch." 

"  Catch  or  not,"  cried  Sir  John,  merrily, 
"  I  swear  I  have  brains  and  enough  to 
spare  for  his  noddle.  As  for  you,  my 
sweet  sister,  look  your  best  on  your  little 
beaux,  for  you'll  soon  see  the  last  of 
them.  We  take  passage  for  America  next 
month." 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  she  cried,  sharply. 


A  Georgian  Actress  171 

Before  he  could  reply,  a  strange  little 
sound,  between  a  cry  of  rapture  and  a 
sob,  was  heard,  and  Peggy  had  flown  to 
her  brother's  embrace. 

Ann  stared  at  them  with  whitening  face. 
She  did  not  need  further  words  to  know 
that  the  decision  was  final.  "  I  will  not 
go,"  she  cried,  "I  —  I  have  a  career  to 
make.  You  will  ruin  my  life  if  you  take 
me  home  now,  John." 

She  rose  and  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  reaching  across  Peggy's  head, 
which  rested  on  his  breast.  The  little 
maid  looked  up  defiantly,  then  pushed 
her  sister  away.  "You  can  stay  with 
Lady  Betty,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  you  shall  come 
and  live  with  me,"  said  their  visitor, 
soothingly. 

Ann  made  no  reply.  She  walked  to  the 
window  and  stood  looking  out  of  doors. 
Peggy's  words,  her  gestures,  had  cut  her 
to  the  heart.  She  had  volunteered  their 
separation.  Under  almost  any  circum- 
stances, Ann  would  have  protested  against 
their  going,  have  done  all  she  could  to 


172  A  Georgian  Actress 

bring  her  brother  around  to  her  way  of 
thinking.  But,  had  he  decided  to  go,  she 
would  have  gone  with  him  and  Peggy  as 
a  matter  of  course.  To  be  separated 
from  Peggy,  —  the  thought  had  never 
crossed  her  mind  until  now.  In  that 
bitter  hurt  moment  she  realised  she  stood 
aloof  from  these  other  two,  that  they  had 
put  her  outside  their  common  bond  of 
sympathy.  Or  had  she  stepped  outside 
of  her  own  accord  ?  At  last  she  turned. 
Standing  now  with  her  back  to  the 
window,  her  face  was  in  shadow,  and  they 
did  not  perceive  the  tears  in  her  eyes  nor 
her  pallor. 

"I  will  stay  with  Lady  Betty,"  she 
said,  her  heart  aching  to  receive  some 
protest  that  they  would  rather  stay 
themselves  than  leave  her  behind.  The 
assurance  of  their  devotion  was  all  she 
needed,  at  that  moment,  to  cause  her 
to  abandon  her  plan  of  remaining  in 
London. 

Sir  John  whistled  thoughtfully.  "  I 
hadn't  thought  of  that.  "  It  might  be  a 
good  plan.  You  ought  to  make  a  fine 


A  Georgian  Actress  173 

marriage  if  you  stay.  It's  time  you  were 
married." 

"  Married  !  "  she  cried,  hotly.  "  It  is 
not  for  you  to  dictate  to  me !  I  shall 
marry  whom  and  when  I  please.  I  am 
going  to  be  an  actress.  I  must  have  a 
career.  Mr.  Garrick  —  " 

"  An  actress  !  "  echoed  Sir  John,  and 
he  sank  into  a  chair,  convulsed  with 
laughter. 

"  An  actress  !  "  repeated  Lady  Betty. 
"  Ha,  ha,  my  dear  Ann,  but  you  are 
funny ! " 

"  A  career ! "  cried  Sir  John,  his  eyes 
swimming  in  merry  tears. 

"  A  career ! "  echoed  Lady  Betty, 
shrieking  with  glee. 

"By  the  head  of  the  Pretender,  Gar- 
rick  ! "  cried  Sir  John,  holding  his  aching 
sides,  and  winking  at  Lady  Betty. 

"  Oh,  my  Lud  !  "  echoed  Lady  Betty. 
"  Garrick ! "  and  she  poked  Sir  John 
playfully  in  the  ribs  with  her  walking-stick. 

Ann's  eyes  flashed.  She  walked  over 
to  Sir  John,  raised  her  hand,  and  bestowed 
a  sounding  slap  upon  his  cheek.  Then 


174  A  Georgian  Actress 

she  went  into  the  back  room,  locked  the 
door,  and  flung  herself,  weeping,  on  the 
bed. 

As  the  days  wore  by,  she  was  surprised 
to  find  how  soon  her  mind  accustomed 
itself  to  the  thought  of  the  change  the 
parting  would  bring.  To  the  last,  how- 
ever, she  would  have  renounced  gladly 
her  own  ambitions,  and  have  returned 
home  with  her  brother  and  sister  had 
they  asked  her  to  do  so.  But  they  took 
it  for  granted  that  her  decision  to  remain 
in  London  was  final,  and  so  never  sought 
to  persuade  her  otherwise.  She,  proud 
and  sensitive,  sought  to  conceal  how 
deeply  she  was  hurt.  It  was  Peggy  who 
now  wakened  nights  to  find  a  weeping 
bedfellow. 

"  Dear  Ann,"  she  would  say,  putting 
out  her  arm  in  a  sleepy  embrace,  "  do  not 
weep.  Perchance  John  and  I  will  return 
next  year." 

Ann  felt  always  that  it  was  no  grief  to 
Peggy  to  leave  her  as  long  as  she  had  her 
brother. 

The  three  Indians  welcomed  the  thought 


A  Georgian  Actress  175 

of  returning  to  America.  Owhera  saddened 
when  he  found  out  that  Ann  would  not 
go  with  them.  He  even  became  angry. 
Sir  John,  although  secretly  irritated  by 
the  Indian's  presumption,  and  blaming  his 
father,  whose  marriage  had  laid  his 
daughters  open  to  such  unwelcome  atten- 
tion, persuaded  him,  however,  that  she 
would  soon  follow.  The  one  bright  spot 
in  the  parting,  to  Ann,  was  in  seeing  the 
last  of  Owhera,  whose  melancholy  glance, 
sullen  with  disappointment,  both  fright- 
ened and  insulted  her. 

At  the  last,  an  unexpected  passenger 
sailed  with  them.  This  was  the  physi- 
cian who  had  attended  Sir  John  while  he 
was  ill  from  the  effects  of  the  fire.  The 
two  young  men  were  constantly  together, 
and  Ann  sometimes  feared  that,  in  Doctor 
O'Keefe's  society,  her  brother  drank  and 
played  cards  far  too  much.  Their  new 
acquaintance  came  of  good  family,  and 
possessed  intellectual  gifts  of  a  high  order. 
His  heavy,  coarse  face,  his  bulky  figure, 
repelled  her.  He  was  a  universal  favour- 
ite with  men,  and  she  appreciated  while 


176  A  Georgian  Actress 

she  shrank  from  his  keen  wit,  his  high 
animal  spirits,  and  his  overpowering  good 
nature.  He,  following  a  hasty  impulse, 
boarded  the  ship  just  before  it  sailed,  and 
her  heart  rebelled  to  see  him  standing 
between  Sir  John  and  Peggy,  waving  to 
her  in  boisterous  spirits  and  shouting  mes- 
sages she  did  not  catch. 

It  was  impossible  to  ignore  him,  and 
she  had  to  accept  the  fact  as  philosophi- 
cally as  she  could  that  it  was  he,  a  com- 
parative stranger,  who  answered  with  the 
greatest  enthusiasm  her  fluttering  hand- 
kerchief. 

It  was  during  these  last  few  weeks  that 
she  had  realised  consciously  for  the  first 
time  that  she  and  her  sister  were  far  from 
any  common  point  of  interest,  or  even 
sympathy. 

All  those  solitary  years  in  the  lonely 
castle  she  had  spent  chiefly  in  study  and 
reading.  Now,  as  she  was  able  to  form 
contrasts,  she  began  to  appreciate  that 
Madame  Van  Vrankin  had  been  a  woman 
of  exceptional  gifts  and  attainments. 
Wondering  admiration  coloured  her  lov- 


A  Georgian  Actress  177 

ing  memory,  and  she  puzzled  over  the  cir- 
cumstances which,  she  believed,  had  made 
Madame  her  mother's  companion.  If 
she  spoke  of  this  to  Peggy,  she  was  met 
always  by  indifference.  In  those  isolated 
days,  the  reading  of  Shakespeare  had  been 
Ann's  chief  delight.  While  she  thus 
listened  to  the  immortal  harmonies  of  the 
poet's  verse,  Peggy  heard  the  music  of 
the  pines  in  the  wind  ;  at  the  falling 
of  the  leaves  she  grew  sad :  Lo,  they 
were  the  dying  children  of  the  forest ! 
There  was  nothing  vital  in  Ann's  love  for 
nature.  What  signified  the  stricken  trees 
to  her,  —  fit  to  serve  a  poet's  fancy, 
"  bare  ruined  choirs  where  late  the  sweet 
birds  sang." 

Nature,  calling  with  a  mighty  voice 
upon  her  child,  was  drawing  Peggy  back 
to  her  embrace. 

But  for  Ann,  the  city  pavements ;  the 
hurrying  of  feet ;  the  lamplight  shining  on 
many  faces.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  tur- 
moil of  affairs  and  human  passions,  here, 
she  believed  that  love  would  come  to 
her,  here  glory  waited  her ! 


Chapter  XI 

WITH    the     persistency    that    had 
characterised  her  determination  to 
go  to   England,  Ann    now  followed    out 
her  ambition  to  become  an  actress. 

Thus  one  morning  she  might  have 
been  seen  ascending  the  stoop  of  a  choco- 
late-coloured brick  house  in  a  respectable 
part  of  the  city.  There  were  elaborate 
frescoes  above  the  long,  narrow  windows, 
seemingly  mere  slits  of  light  in  the  wall. 
She  raised  the  knocker  —  a  lion's  head  — 
and  rapped.  There  was  no  response  to 
her  first  timid  knock,  so  she  took  heart 
and  rapped  more  briskly.  This  time  the 
door  was  opened  by  a  rosy  little  maid  with 
scrubbing-brush  in  hand  and  rolled-up 
sleeves.  She  directed  Ann  to  pass  through 
the  parlours  into  the  breakfast  -  room 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garrick  received  at 

this  hour. 

178 


A  Georgian  Actress  179 

Left  to  make  her  way  as  best  she  might, 
she  stumbled  and  but  just  saved  herself 
from  pitching  headlong.  The  two  ill- 
lighted  parlours  seemed  interminably  long, 
and  inconvenient  pieces  of  furniture 
thrust  themselves  out  from  dark  corners 
into  her  path.  Then  she  saw  a  crack  of 
sunlight  at  a  doorway,  and  the  sudden 
chirp  of  a  bird  greeted  her.  She  stood 
outside  the  door  some  moments,  trying 
to  summon  the  courage  to  enter.  She 
heard  the  chink  of  china,  a  slight  cough, 
a  murmured  word,  followed  by  a  ripple  of 
laughter,  and  a  retort  in  a  woman's  voice. 
Fearing  if  she  stood  longer  she  might 
overhear  something  of  a  private  nature, 
she  took  heart  and  knocked.  The  morn- 
ing-room was  bright  with  sunshine,  and 
gay  with  a  row  of  potted  geraniums  on 
the  window-ledge. 

At  a  low  oval  table  Mrs.  Garrick  sat 
making  tea  in  a  silver  kettle. 

Mr.  Garrick,  in  a  cinnamon  brown 
dressing-gown,  was  reading  the  paper. 
As  he  turned  it  over  he  glanced  up. 

"  Hey-day,  what  have  we   here  ?  "    he 


180  A  Georgian  Actress 

cried,  gaily.  "  My  love,  do  my  eyes  de- 
ceive me  ?  Is't  or  is't  not  the  Goddess 
of  Dawn?"  He  rose  and  flung  aside  his 
paper  and  went  forward  gracefully,  bowed 
very  low  over  Ann's  hand,  and  kissed  it. 
He  then  raised  it,  and,  with  a  step  as  if 
they  were  advancing  in  the  minuet,  con- 
ducted her  to  his  wife. 

"  My  love,"  he  said,  "  the  Lady  Ann 
Johnson  does  us  great  honour." 

Ann  curtsied. 

Little  Mrs.  Garrick  rose  and  kissed 
the  girl's  fresh  cheek.  "  I  am  so  glad 
you  came,"  she  said,  "  for  Mr.  Garrick 
has  told  me  much  of  you,  and  yet  it  so 
happened  that  we  never  met.  Shall  we 
not  have  a  cup  of  tea  while  we  visit? 
Our  breakfast,  you  know,  is  the  rest  of 
the  world's  luncheon.  Let  me  take  your 
shawl.  And,  pardon  my  mentioning  it, 
but  what  a  duck  of  a  bonnet  you  have, 
Lady  Ann!  Dear,  dear,  when  I  think 
how  much  pink  I  used  to  wear,  and, 
though  I  say  it  myself,  it  was  most  won- 
drous becoming.  But  that  was  when  I 
was  young." 


A  Georgian  Actress  181 

"  My  love,"  spoke  Mr.  Garrick,  gal- 
lantly, "  I  like  pink  best  on  you  to  this 
day,  though  I  must  confess  to  a  weakness 
for  blue.  But  yet,"  and  he  hummed  : 

" « With  age  thy  beauty  will  decay, 

Thy  mind  improve  with  years, 
As  when  the  blossoms  fade  away, 
The  ripening  fruit  appears ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Garrick  shook  her  head,  and 
glanced  drolly  at  Ann.  "  He  wrote  that 
to  Peg  Woffington,  —  pass  me  the  tea- 
caddy,  Davy  dear,  —  and  actually  has  the 
effrontery  to  repeat  it  to  me." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Garrick,  "  I  admit  I 
did  write  those  verses,  but  not  the  ones 
Sir  Horace  Walpole  gave,  though  they 
were  very  good.  I  did  not  tell  you," 
turning  to  his  wife,  "  how  wounded  I 
was  by  Sir  Horace's  unkindness  one  night 
some  months  ago.  I  have  never  done  an 
ill-natured  thing  to  him,  and  yet  he  always 
has  a  fling  for  me.  I  suppose  it  is  be- 
cause I  am  an  actor.  Did  you  ever  see 
him  walk,  Lady  Johnson  ? "  and,  suiting 
the  words  to  action,  Mr.  Garrick  went 


1 82  A  Georgian  Actress 

tripping  and  mincing  across  the  room, 
and  making  a  dainty  pretence  of  taking 
snuff  until  Ann  and  Mrs.  Garrick  laughed 
heartily,  the  former  not  without  compunc- 
tion, for  she  was  too  tender-hearted  really 
to  enjoy  seeing  any  one  ridiculed. 

"  Come,  the  tea  is  steeped,"  said  Mrs. 
Garrick,  and  they  all  sat  down.  She  rang 
the  bell,  and  the  little  maid,  with  her 
sleeves  now  rolled  down,  brought  in  a 
tray  holding  a  plate  of  hot  muffins,  a 
rasher  of  bacon,  and  a  dish  of  stewed 
honey-blobs,  as  gooseberries  were  then 
called. 

"  Mr.  Garrick,"  said  Ann,  timidly,  "  I 
came  to  ask  you  if  I  might  be  your 
scholar."  She  clasped  her  hands  and 
turned  her  beautiful  eyes  entreatingly 
upon  him.  "  Dear  Mr.  Garrick,  I  long 
to  be  a  play-actress." 

"  Superb  !  "  he  cried.  "  My  love,  did 
you  observe  those  hands  ?  That  gesture  ! 
That  glance !  " 

"  To  be  a  play-actress,"  repeated  Ann, 
"  to  hold  multitudes  breathless  while  you 
thrill  with  tragedy!  Oh,  to  be  a  play- 


A  Georgian  Actress  183 

actress  ! "  She  extended  a  muffin  as 
though  it  were  a  sceptre. 

Mrs.  Garrick  nodded  approvingly 
across  the  table  to  her  husband. 

Ann  relapsed  into  her  usual  tone,  and 
modestly  dropped  her  eyes.  "  I  have 
never  had  any  experience,  sir,  but  I  burn 
with  genius  and  I  long  to  try." 

"  You  shall,"  he  answered,  solemnly. 
"  Who  would  dare  stifle  such  talent,  such 
dramatic  fire,  such  —  you  will  permit  me 
to  say  it  in  the  presence  of  my  wife  — 
such  beauty."  And  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  heart  and  inclined  his  head. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  said  little  Mrs.  Garrick, 
"and  so  much  more  genteel  than  that 
pretty  hussy,  Woffington." 

He  reached  over  and  patted  his  guest's 
hand  kindly.  "When  we  have  break- 
fasted you  must  recite  for  me.  Do  not 
be  afraid.  I  shall  be  an  attentive,  not  a 
severe,  judge." 

While  he  sipped  his  third  cup  of  tea, 
she  rose  to  give  the  lines  from  Shakespeare 
he  requested,  and  which  happened  to  be  a 
favourite  passage  with  her.  It  was  the 


184  A  Georgian  Actress 

speech  of  Perdita  in  The  Winter's  'Tale 
when  she  presented  the  flowers.  Mrs. 
Garrick  broke  off  a  sprig  of  her  scarlet 
geranium  and  gave  it  to  their  visitor  to 
use  in  illustration  of  the  words. 

But  the  first  syllable  had  not  been 
spoken  when  Mr.  Anthony  Dashwood 
entered  as  she  had. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ? "  she  said,  noncha- 
lantly, and  seated  herself  hurriedly,  most 
unpleasantly  surprised,  for  she  had  hoped 
to  keep  her  visit  secret. 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,"  he  replied. 
"  Mrs.  Garrick,  I  trust  your  health 
matches  your  looks.  Then  I  am  assured 
of  your  good  spirits.  A  fair  morning  to 
you,  Mr.  Garrick.  I  just  ran  across  my 
aunt  at  market.  I  often  take  a  stroll 
through  the  market  when  the  day's  fresh, 
thinking  to  find  a  subject  for  my  pen. 
When  a  thought  comes  I  put  it  down  at 
once.  Here's  a  mere  verse  on  cherries 
I  sat  down  and  dashed  off  at  the  apple- 
woman's  stall  this  morning.  But  I  will 
read  it  later."  And  he  replaced  the  slip 
he  had  drawn  from  his  pocket.  "  What 


A  Georgian  Actress  185 

was  it  I  started  to  say  ?  Oh,  I  remember. 
My  aunt  said  she  was  going  home  to 
take  you  driving,  Lady  Ann." 

"  Indeed  !  "  remarked  Ann,  so  coldly 
that  his  eyes  twinkled,  for  he  perceived 
his  coming  had  filled  her  with  wonder  and 
annoyance. 

"  You  like  your  tea  all  cream  and  sugar 
nearly,  do  you  not?"  said  Mrs.  Garrick, 
smiling  at  him.  "I'm  sure  your  poem 
must  be  quite  ravishing.  I'm  so  fond  of 
cherries  myself,  indeed  they  are  my  fa- 
vourite fruit.  What  was  that  little  song 
we  used  to  sing  in  duet  about  cherry  lips, 
Davy?" 

He  gave  her  a  fond  glance.  Her  artless 
prattle  always  delighted  him.  "  To  busi- 
ness first,  Mr.  Dashwood.  Let  me  have 
your  lines,"  he  cried,  "  then  for  a  fresh 
brewing  of  tea  and  the  cherries.  I  shall 
hear  you  better,  Lady  Johnson,  when  this 
is  off  my  mind." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Ann,  in  surprised  delight, 
"  you  never  told  me  you  were  studying 
for  to  be  a  play-actor." 

"  Well,  I  confess  it,"  he  explained.    "  I 


1 86  A  Georgian  Actress 

feared  lest  you  might  mention  the  fact  to 
my  Aunt  Betty.  I  prefer  to  keep  my 
studying  for  the  stage  a  secret  till  I  am 
far  enough  advanced  not  to  appear  ridicu- 
lous." He  did  not  add  that  he  had  been 
impelled  to  this  course  by  his  desire  to 
shine  maybe  in  her  eyes,  and,  moreover, 
he  did  not  consider  himself  wholly  lack- 
ing in  ability. 

"  That  is  how  I  felt,  and  that  is  why  I 
was  so  sorry  when  you  carne  in.  I  am 
pleased  now,  though,"  said  Ann.  "  Do 
you  know  I  am  just  a  little,  not  very  much, 
but  just  a  little  bit  afraid  of  your  Aunt 
Betty  ?  She  enjoys  laughing  so."  She 
smiled  cordially  at  him.  From  the  first 
she  had  been  much  attracted  by  him,  and 
now  their  like  ambition  and  delicious  con- 
sciousness of  a  mutual  fear  of  Lady  Betty 
strengthened  the  friendship  so  pleasantly 
commenced. 

She  noticed  but  did  not  grasp  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  smile  that  passed  between 
the  old  actor  and  his  wife.  In  the  twenty 
and  over  years  they  had  been  married, 
they  had  never  been  separated  a  day,  and 


A  Georgian  Actress  187 

this  atmosphere  of  happiness  developed 
in  them  a  peculiar  tenderness  and  roman- 
tic sentiment  toward  young  people  whom 
they  felt  to  be  in  love. 

Mrs.  Garrick  picked  another  sprig  of 
geranium  and  put  it  in  the  young  man's 
buttonhole.  "  I  cannot  give  you  such 
posies  as  the  poet  had  Perdita  give,  but 
you  shall  have  this  which  all  good  house- 
wives love  for  its  cheerfulness." 

Mr.  Dashwood  stole  a  look  at  Ann. 
Her  lovely  eyes  met  his  in  disheartening 
friendliness.  He  rose  and  paced  off  to 
the  farther  end  of  the  breakfast-room, 
where  he  turned  and  faced  his  small  and 
critical  audience. 

"  How  is  my  posture  ?  "  he  asked,  not 
one  whit  abashed.  He  waited,  smiling, 
turning  back  the  lace  ruffles  which  fell 
over  his  wrists  that  he  might  make  his 
gestures  with  greater  freedom. 

"  Remember  you  are  Macbeth,  not 
Romeo,"  advised  Mr.  Garrick,  severely. 

Mr.  Dashwood  drew  his  face  down  in  a 
fearful  scowl. 

"Oh,  oh!"   shrieked  little  Mrs.  Gar- 


1 88  A  Georgian  Actress 

rick,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  "  you  do  not 
have  to  make  faces  at  us,  sir ! " 

He  relapsed  into  a  broad  grin.  He  did 
not  feel  at  all  foolish,  and  he  thoroughly 
enjoyed  the  merriment. 

The  old  actor,  frowning,  tapped  sharply 
on  the  table  with  his  teaspoon.  "  Come, 
come,  let  us  have  the  lines.  Come,  *  We 
have  scotched  the  snake,  not  killed  it.' 
Go  on,  sir.  Above  all,  remember  you  are 
Macbeth." 

He  rose  and  leant  over  the  back  of  his 
chair.  His  wonderful  eyes,  burning  with 
intensity,  followed  the  speaker's  every  ges- 
ture and  expression.  Here  was  no  longer 
the  courteous  host,  but  a  great  tragedian 
jealous  for  his  art.  A  thrill  of  nervous 
fear  passed  over  Ann.  She  felt  for  Dash- 
wood,  and  was  apprehensive  lest  he  should 
not  acquit  himself  well.  But  his  read- 
ing was  even  worse  than  she  could  have 
supposed.  Her  own  artistic  sense  was 
shocked. 

As  the  speech  drew  to  a  finish,  Mr. 
Garrick  flung  aside  the  chair,  on  which  he 
had  been  leaning,  in  a  seeming  rage. 


"HE   GAVE   THE    LINES    AS    ONLY    HK    COULD    GIVE 
THEM." 


A  Georgian  Actress  189 

"  Who  taught  you  to  stalk  and  paw 
and  to  mouth  your  words  ?  Not  I  !  Yaw, 
whaw,  maw !  Better  be  with  the  dead, 
indeed,  than  so  to  confound  my  teaching. 
Better  be  with  the  dead  ?  Wee,  wee,  wee. 
Did  I  hear  a  mouse  squeak  ?  No,  sir,  I 
never  taught  you  thus."  And  then,  to 
their  relief,  the  actor  laughed  heartily. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Dashwood,"  he  continued 
with  genuine  sweetness  and  reproach, 
"  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  you  ?  Ah, 
I  see  your  heart  is  not  in  this,  else  you 
were  a  man  of  too  fine  susceptibilities  to 
make  Macbeth  so  mouth  those  lines. 
They  should  not  be  so  loudly  spoken,  but 
quietly  and  with  tears  in  the  voice.  I 
told  you  but  a  few  gestures  as  your  own 
emotion  would  dictate.  'Tis  to  despair, 
not  to  rant !  Come,  let  us  see  what  we 
can  do." 

Then  standing  by  the  little  breakfast- 
table,  in  his  cinnamon  dressing-gown,  he 
gave  the  lines  as  only  he  could  give  them. 
His  face  became  dejected,  wan,  the  eyes 
staring  and  far-away,  as  though  viewing 
the  approach  of  a  nameless  horror.  When 


190  A  Georgian  Actress 

he  came  to  the  last  speech  of  the 
selection,  his  voice  broke  with  infinite 
longing. 

«« « Better  be  with  the  dead, 
Whom  we  to  gain  our  peace  have  sent  to  peace, 
Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 
In  restless  ecstacy.   .   .   .   Duncan  is  in  his  grave. 
After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well ; 
Treason  has  done  its  worse ;  nor  steel  nor  poison, 
Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing 
Can  touch  him  farther.'  ' 

Lo,  as  the  actor  spoke,  the  little  room 
lost  its  cheer;  the  brightness  had  gone 
from  the  flooding  sunshine ;  the  singing 
of  the  birds  was  meaningless. 

Mrs.  Garrick,  whose  emotions  were 
played  upon  as  a  harp  by  the  wind,  sat 
with  folded  hands,  her  wistful  eyes,  that 
had  won  her  the  name  of  "  The  Violette  " 
and  still  retained  their  beauty,  fixed  on 
her  Davy's  face. 

Ann  was  thinking  of  Madame,  Madame, 
who  slept  well  after  life's  fitful  fever ! 

And  then  the  strain  was  broken  as  the 
actor  spoke  in  his  ordinary  voice  :  "  There, 
Mr.  Dashwood,  and  when  you  try  that 


A  Georgian  Actress  191 

speech  again,  give  it  more  passion  and 
less  mouth." 

The  young  man  crossed  over  and  laid 
his  hand  affectionately  on  the  old  actor's 
shoulder,  looking  down  on  him  with 
frankest  admiration  in  his  pleasant  face. 
"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  after  seeing  you  as  I  did 
just  now,  I  should  be  most  presumptuous 
to  continue  my  study  for  the  stage.  I  do 
but  wonder  that  I  ever  dared  begin." 

Mr.  Garrick,  always  deeply  touched 
by  honest  praise  and  always  hungry  for  it, 
protested  generously :  "  One  star  differ- 
eth  from  another  in  glory,  and  you  —  " 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say," 
interrupted  the  other,  laughing,  "  that  I 
am  a  poet,  and  there  again  one  star  differ- 
eth  in  glory !  But  back  to  my  Lady 
Muse  I  go,  nevertheless,  though  she  ever 
flout  me." 


Chapter  XII 

f  •  AHREE  years  passed,  and  in  that 
JL  time  Ann  grew  to  know  much  that 
was  best,  wisest,  and  wittiest  in  a  society 
which  was  also  coarse  and  calculating.  The 
first  year  she  lived  with  Lady  Betty  Fitz- 
hugh,  who,  once  she  realised  that  not  only 
did  Ann's  desires  centre  in  the  stage,  but 
that  she  had  talent  as  well,  sympathised 
genuinely  with  her  ambition  and  proved 
a  most  helpful  friend. 

Sir  William  Johnson's  consent  that  his 
daughter  should  study  for  the  stage  was 
easily  obtained.  The  fact  that  his  old 
friend  took  his  daughter  under  her  care 
relieved  his  mind  of  all  anxiety,  and  he 
trusted  to  her  judgment.  Moreover,  he 
knew  Garrick  to  be  a  gentleman  by  birth 
and  training,  and  a  member  of  the  king's 
household.  He  had  met  the  actor  while 
on  a  visit  to  England  some  years  ago,  and 
192 


A  Georgian  Actress 


had  both  admired  his  art  and  sympathised 
with  the  courage  and  ambition  by  which 
Garrick  had  won  his  high  position.  He, 
who  had  been  so  entirely  the  master  of 
his  own  fortune,  accorded  an  immense 
respect  to  the  men  whom  he  felt,  like 
himself,  had  won  their  spurs  unaided.  He 
did  not  perceive,  however,  that  this  long- 
ing for  success  was  repeated  in  Ann,  and 
that  it  was  she,  rather  than  John,  in  whom 
was  implanted  his  own  ambitious  spirit 
and  determined  will. 

All  that  happy  spring  and  summer  Ann 
studied  with  Mr.  Garrick.  These  were,  in  a 
measure,  her  happiest  days.  In  the  ful- 
ness of  her  heart,  she  wrote  many  letters 
home,  to  receive  but  brief  and  long  delayed 
replies  from  Peggy  and  John,  and  from 
her  father  a  short  letter  at  regular  intervals, 
enclosing  a  liberal  allowance.  But  the 
warmth  of  her  own  feeling  was  so  genuine, 
and  her  content  in  her  studies  so  supreme, 
that  she  never  quite  appreciated  how 
indifferent  and  self-absorbed  her  family 
was.  She  heard  several  times  from  Mr. 
Claus,  who  had  entered  his  Majesty's 


194  A  Georgian  Actress 

service,  and,  owing  to  courageous  conduct 
in  the  border  wars,  been  promoted  to  a 
captaincy.  His  letters  were  always  delight- 
ful, full  of  a  direct  simplicity,  refreshing 
by  contrast  to  the  affectations  held  by  so 
many  of  the  young  men  she  met  in  Lon- 
don. She  anticipated  his  letters  eagerly, 
not  much  for  the  sake  of  the  writer, 
but  chiefly  because  he  told  her  many 
details  of  the  life  at  Johnson  Hall  where 
he  now  lived  as  an  aide  to  her  father. 
A  few  words  would  conjure  up  a  vivid 
picture  of  Peggy  or  her  father.  He  hinted 
at  a  love-affair  of  Sir  John's  with  a  New 
York  belle.  The  most  important  influence 
his  letters  had  upon  her  lay  probably  in 
the  fact  that  they  served  to  keep  fresh 
in  her  heart  the  love  of  her  country ;  for 
Claus,  who  was  always  keenly  interested 
in  public  affairs,  quite  unconsciously  wrote 
much  of  them.  Any  temptation  he  had 
to  write  to  her  of  his  love  faded  on  receiv- 
ing her  answers,  so  prompt  and  cordial, 
so  impersonally  friendly,  that  he  felt  her 
heart  to  be  wholly  in  her  work.  If  this 
were  his  grief,  it  was  at  the  same  time  his 


A  Georgian  Actress  195 

consolation,  for  it  convinced  him  that  she 
cared  for  no  one.  But  in  spite  of  this 
assurance,  there  were  nights  when  the 
accomplished  duties  of  the  day  left  him 
free  to  be  the  prey  of  jealous  fear  lest 
another  should  win  her  in  the  time  it 
would  take  him  to  make  his  fortune.  At 
such  hours  of  torturing  thought,  he  would 
rise  and  go  for  a  long  walk  in  the  forest, 
as  familiar  to  his  trained  senses  by  night 
as  by  day.  There  in  the  mighty  woods, 
that  his  hunter's  heart  so  loved,  the  world 
was  shut  out.  He  felt  that  a  great  solitude 
closed  him  around,  and  that  the  only 
other  person  existing  within  that  vast 
and  magic  space  was  Ann,  and  she,  not  as 
one  in  the  body,  but  spiritually.  She 
seemed  to  him  then,  not  a  separate 
person,  but  his  very  soul.  When  writ- 
ing to  her,  his  thought  would  revert 
to  the  mood  of  exaltation,  and  he  would 
be  filled  with  wonder  that  he  could 
write  of  the  commonplaces  of  life. 
Often  he  was  content  to  think  of  her 
as  joyous  in  her  work,  which  he  prayed 
Heaven  might  absorb  her  until  that 


196  A  Georgian  Actress 

happy  time  for  him  to  win  her  should 
ripen. 

The  night  of  Ann's  first  appearance 
marked  a  brilliant  house.  She  made  her 
debut  as  Juliet  on  the  New  Year's  Eve  of 
her  second  winter  abroad.  Not  only  had 
her  reputation  as  a  beauty  spread  wide, 
but  she  had  that  indescribable  air  of  fash- 
ion that  made  a  strong  appeal  to  worldly 
people.  She  was  of  rank  herself,  and  she 
had,  moreover,  the  patronage  of  royalty, 
for  George  III.,  who  was  far  from  being 
an  anchorite  or  recluse,  loved  the  theatre, 
and  did  much  to  promote  its  advance- 
ment. 

Mr.  Garrick,  anxious  that  she  should 
shine  rather  than  himself,  selected  Romeo 
and  "Juliet,  the  play  in  which  he  was  at 
his  worst,  but  in  which  he  was  confident 
his  beloved  scholar  would  show  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  He,  the  jealous  lover 
of  Shakespeare,  who  had  brushed  from 
Macbeth  and  Lear  the  absurdities  that 
former  actors  had  added  to  these  plays 
now  himself  contributed  a  last  scene  to 
Romeo  and  Juliet ',  in  which  Juliet  awakened 


A  Georgian  Actress  197 

in  the  tomb  and  there  was  a  long  and 
affecting  scene  between  the  lovers.  Gar- 
rick's  art  was  great.  He  had  so  loved 
Shakespeare  ;  the  eternal  harmonies  of  the 
poet's  verse  so  rang  in  his  mind  that  he 
wrote  the  final  tragedy  in  an  inspired 
mood  that  touched  of  the  great  drama- 
tist himself.  Historically,  he  had  some 
grounds  for  this  addition,  as,  in  the  orig- 
inal tale  by  Bandello,  Juliet  wakens  in  the 
tomb. 

The  house  was  filled  to  standing-room. 
Persons  of  quality  occupied  even  the  foot- 
men's gallery.  The  Christmas  greens 
and  scarlet  berries  still  adorned  the  pillars 
and  railings.  An  unusual  number  of  wax 
candles  was  employed,  and  the  soft  and 
brilliant  light  was  entrancing.  Over  the 
stage  was  a  large  cluster  so  arranged  that 
the  light  might  seem  to  fall  as  from  the 
sun.  The  house  was  in  an  uproar. 
Quiet  would  fall  only  when  the  curtain 
rose. 

Lady  Betty,  gorgeous  in  a  new  gown, 
fanned  herself  or  took  snuff  with  assumed 
indifference.  She  was  in  reality  anxious 


198  A  Georgian  Actress 

that  Ann  should  acquit  herself  with  glory, 
and  feared  stage-fright  for  so  sensitive  a 
nature.  She  felt  that  her  own  nerves 
would  be  at  a  tension  until  the  curtain 
should  fall  on  the  final  scene,  and  she 
turned  sharply  on  her  nephew  as  she 
happened  to  hear  him  sigh.  "  Am  I  not 
in  enough  of  a  fidget,  Tony,  without  your 
making  me  more  so  by  your  melancholy 
ways,  drat  'em  !  Are  you  in  love  again  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "  'Tis  my  digestion  only, 
Aunt  Betty,  and  then,  too,  I  sighed  to 
think  on  the  young  lovers  that  will  die 
to-night,  though  it  be  but  on  the  stage." 

Dr.  Samuel  Johnson,  who  was  Lady 
Fitzhugh's  guest  for  the  evening,  laughed 
hugely. 

"  They're  not  so  young,"  he  said,  roll- 
ing and  heaving  in  his  chair ;  "  at  least  our 
Romeo  to-night  has  some  wrinkles  the 
paint  won't  hide  to  those  of  us  who  .know 
his  age." 

"Tut,  tut,  you  old  gossip  !  "  said  Lady 
Betty,  who  stood  in  no  awe  of  the  doctor. 
"  I'll  admit  Garrick,  when  young,  made  a 
handsomer  Romeo  than  he's  likely  to 


A  Georgian  Actress  199 

make  to-night.  But  what  kind  of  a  Ro- 
meo could  you  ever  have  made  ?  Ha, 
ha!  my  dear  doctor." 

He  glowered  at  her.  "  I  make  no  pre- 
tensions, madam,"  he  cried,  pounding  on 
the  floor  with  his  cane.  "  I'm  what  I  am, 
a  lexicographer,  a  harmless  drudge.  I'm 
no  actor,  to  take  on  this  fellow's  mincing 
gait,  or  that  one's  voice,  or  another's 
impish  face." 

He  flounced  around  in  his  chair  and 
turned  his  back  squarely  on  her. 

Lady  Betty  tittered  and  put  up  her 
glass  to  look  at  the  audience. 

Doctor  Johnson  felt  the  good  humour 
in  which  he  had  come  vanish.  He  liked 
Ann,  but  did  not  particularly  admire  her ; 
indeed,  had  gone  so  far  as  openly  to  pro- 
fess at  dinner,  at  the  coffee-house  that 
evening,  his  preference  for  several  other 
actresses  of  heartier  if  coarser  wit,  and  a 
more  buxom  style  of  beauty.  However, 
in  honour  of  the  occasion,  he  put  on  a 
scarlet  coat  trimmed  with  gold  lace,  which 
he  had  worn  first  on  the  opening  night 
of  a  play  he  had  written.  Its  failure  to 


2OO-  A  Georgian  Actress 

strike  the  popular  note  he  always  attrib- 
uted to  Mr.  Garrick's  poor  acting.  He 
had  never  quite  forgiven  his  friend,  who 
writhed  under  the  injustice. 

In  those  days  actors  and  actresses  did 
not  costume  themselves  according  to  the 
period  of  which  a  play  was  written,  but 
dressed  in  the  latest  London  fashion. 
Ann  wore  the  same  dress  throughout  the 
play ;  her  hair  was  caught  up  in  ringlets 
on  her  head  and  her  satin  skirt  swept  out 
magnificently  over  the  hoops  she  wore. 

Gar  rick  at  times  overdid  his  part.  He 
who  caused  his  audience  to  shudder  at 
Richard,  and  drew  tears  from  all  in  the 
anguished  character  of  Lear,  did  not 
escape  ridicule  as  Romeo. 

But  she,  all  sweetness,  all  unfolding 
beauty  and  freshness,  made  her  way  to 
every  heart.  In  the  breasts  of  those  from 
whom  first  love  had  long  since  taken 
wing  her  voice  was  as  the  voice  of  their 
lost  youth,  and  woke  in  them  the  tender, 
eternal  romance. 

Ah,  how  little  it  mattered  to  those  so 
moved  that  the  gallant  mask  of  Romeo 


A  Georgian  Actress  201 

failed  to  hide  the  old  actor's  pathetically 
intense  and  wrinkled  face ;  that  he  showed 
a  lamentable  lack  of  his  usual  fine  feeling 
in  the  balcony  scene,  and  came  creeping 
in  on  tiptoes  instead  of  entering  with  the 
watchful,  but,  on  the  whole,  free  and  daring 
step  of  a  youthful  lover. 

What  did  this  matter  to  an  audience 
that,  single-eyed,  saw  only  a  Juliet  of 
exquisite  beauty,  standing  on  a  vine- 
wreathed  balcony,  her  tender  face  lifted  in 
the  moonlight,  so  artfully  suggested  by 
concealed  green-shaded  candles  ;  the  folds 
of  her  silver  embroidered  satin  gown 
gleaming  no  whiter  than  her  matchless 
arms  ;  her  voice  so  thrilling-sweet  promis- 
ing— 

"  This  bud  of  love  by  summer's  ripening  breath, 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet  "  ? 

The  daring  ending  of  the  play  that 
Garrick  had  introduced  was  more  success- 
ful than  he  could  have  hoped.  The  peo- 
ple melted  into  tears,  then  broke  into 
loud  huzzas. 

Old  Doctor  Johnson  was  growling  his 


202  A  Georgian  Actress 

approval  and  wiping  his  eyes,  and  when 
the  curtain  fell  went  rumbling  off  to  the 
greenroom,  his  good  nature  restored,  to 
congratulate  his  old  friend  Davy  on  his 
new  actress. 

Once  only  during  the  evening  had  Ann 
been  conscious  of  any  spectator  other 
than  those  in  Lady  Betty's  box.  This 
was  a  heavy,  plain-featured  young  man 
whose  gaze  had  magnetically  attracted  her 
own.  He  looked  familiar  to  her.  She 
glanced  away,  puzzled  to  place  him.  Then 
suddenly  she  knew.  He  was  Doctor 
O'Keefe.  She  wondered  when  he  had 
returned  from  America,  and  why  he  had 
not  been  to  see  her. 

Doctor  O'Keefe,  noting  Lady  Betty, 
went  over  to  see  her  between  acts,  and 
received  a  cordial  invitation  to  the  supper 
she  was  to  give  in  Ann's  honour  after  the 
play.  Sir  John  had  once  brought  him  to 
call  on  her  and  she  remembered  his  wit 
and  clever  stories. 

"  I'm  fond  of  Tony,  but  he's  a  trifle 
depressing  to  a  woman  of  my  tempera- 
ment," she  had  said  that  afternoon,  in 


A  Georgian  Actress  203 

semi-apology  for  the  screams  of  merri- 
ment the  Irishman  drew  from  her.  She 
greeted  him  with  anticipation  of  more 
jovial  times,  and  regretted  that,  for  the 
present,  her  interest  in  the  evening's  per- 
formance prevented  her  gossiping  with 
him  of  his  visit  abroad. 

He,  on  his  part,  accepted  her  invitation 
eagerly.  Always  at  his  best  in  the  society 
of  men,  he  had  never  been  at  ease  in 
Ann's  company,  and  considered  her  a 
delicate  creature,  lacking  in  spirit  and 
humour,  much  preferring  Lady  Betty. 
But  to-night  her  beauty  and  her  success 
carried  him  by  storm,  and  he  was  all  im- 
patience till  the  play  should  end,  that  he 
might  meet  her  again.  His  recent  visit 
to  the  Colonies,  though  short,  had  been 
most  pleasant,  and  now  the  remembrance 
of  it  flung  a  glamour  over  any  American 
association. 

The  Garricks,  Doctor  Johnson,  the 
members  of  the  troupe  taking  part  on 
the  stage  that  evening,  Mr.  Dashwood, 
Doctor  O'Keefe,  their  hostess,  and  Ann 
all  sat  down  to  the  table  together.  The 


204  A  Georgian  Actress 

Irishman,  whose  spirits  rose  to  the  occa- 
sion and  to  the  good  wine,  vied  with  Mr. 
Garrick  in  being  the  life  of  the  party. 

Ann,  pale  and  wearied,  a  trifle  silent, 
ceased  to  attract  him,  and  his  sudden 
fancy  fled.  And  she  was  equally  disap- 
pointed in  him  in  a  different  way,  for  he 
had  little  to  say  of  his  visit  in  her  father's 
home.  His  time  there  had  been  spent 
chiefly  in  hunting,  and  then  he  had  gone 
to  visit  new  acquaintances  in  Albany. 

He  had,  however,  taken  a  warm  liking 
to  Captain  Claus,  and  spoke  of  him  with 
enthusiasm.  Sir  William  and  he  were, 
unfortunately,  too  much  alike  in  tempera- 
ments. Both  being  hot-tempered  Irish- 
men, they  had  fallen  out,  so  that  the 
physician  left  the  Hall  in  high  dudgeon. 
But  once  out  of  sight,  both  men  had  as 
quickly  forgotten  their  wrath,  and  thought 
of  each  other  kindly. 

The  night  of  that  initial  performance 
Ann  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart. 
She  felt  drained  of  all  emotion,  and  was, 
indeed,  too  wearied  to  weep.  As  she  lay 
in  bed,  watching  the  bars  of  moonlight 


A  Georgian  Actress  205 

across  the  curtains  at  the  window,  a  sense 
of  dreariness,  of  desolation  more  than  she 
had  ever  known  before,  stole  over  her 
spirit.  Was  not  her  success  all  she  had 
hoped  or  even  dreamed  ?  Yes,  she  told 
herself,  but  with  the  success  came  the 
knowledge  of  how  little  it  meant.  Now, 
she  knew  how  slight  a  thing  was  fame. 
It  was  for  this,  then,  that  she  had  studied 
so  ambitiously,  this  mere  stage-scene,  love 
that  was  but  acting,  applause  that  came 
from  strangers  !  The  first  disillusion  had 
come  when  she  saw  the  old  actor  come 
creeping  on  tiptoes  in  the  balcony  scene. 
The  dreaming  was  best  and  more  real. 
The  reality  was  a  mockery.  Better  the 
old  days  in  the  castle.  Then  was  Romeo 
her  lover ;  then  was  she  Juliet. 

She  went  over  the  incidents  of  the 
evening,  remembering,  last  of  all,  Mr. 
Garrick's  happy  face.  His  own  star  was 
declining,  but  he  found  comfort  in  the 
star  that  was  rising  with  such  pale  and 
tremulous  brilliancy  to  take  his  place. 
She  resolved  that  she,  his  scholar,  would 
be  faithful  to  his  teachings.  When  she 


206  A  Georgian  Actress 

awoke  in  the  morning  it  was  with  a  heart 
still  heavy,  but  her  sorrow  she  could  not 
have  named. 

The  play  was  a  marvellous  success.  It 
drew  crowded  houses  for  nineteen  nights. 
Then  there  appeared  a  skit  in  the  paper 
ridiculing  Garrick  as  Romeo.  Months 
after,  Ann  learned  that  the  actor,  morbidly 
fearful  of  ridicule,  had  written  the  article 
himself,  hoping  thus  to  disarm  bitterer 
criticism. 


Chapter  XIII 

THE  next  two  years  brought  few 
changes.  She  heard  of  Sir  John's 
marriage  to  the  New  York  beauty  of 
whom  Captain  Claus  had  written  her. 
Lady  Betty  went  abroad,  and  Ann  went  to 
live  with  the  Garricks.  They  gave  the 
second  floor  of  their  house  to  her,  and 
treated  her  with  all  the  loving  indulgence 
they  would  have  accorded  a  daughter. 
Mr.  Garrick  was  beginning  to  brood 
over  the  time,  now  so  near,  when  his 
age  would  make  it  necessary  for  him  to 
leave  the  stage,  after  nearly  forty  years  of 
service.  He  was  often  melancholy,  and 
felt  that  without  him  the  lofty  tone  he 
had  given  to  the  theatre  would  pass. 

"  If  I  had  only  the  time  left  me  to  train 
others  as  I  have  you,  Ann  ! "  he  would 
sigh.     His  anxiety  revealed  itself  patheti- 
cally in  a  class  of  children  he  formed,  and 
207 


2o8  A  Georgian  Actress 

taught,  free  of  any  remuneration,  three 
days  in  the  week.  Many  a  morning,  in  the 
sunshiny  little  breakfast-room,  he  sat  in  his 
dressing-gown  with  the  children  drawn  in  a 
circle  around  him  while  he  read  aloud  from 
Shakespeare,  or  heard  them  recite  the 
passages  he  had  taught  to  them.  And 
sweet  Mrs.  Garrick,  who  was  disappointed 
in  never  having  had  any  children  of  her 
own,  would  slip  into  the  room  and  press 
a  sweetmeat  into  the  hand  of  each  child. 
Often  Ann  would  join  that  charmed  circle 
of  budding  talent,  and  her  gentleness  and 
beauty,  united  to  her  reputation,  would 
cast  a  spell  over  the  reverent  and  awe- 
struck children,  who  saw  in  her  all  that 
they  might  ever  hope  to  be.  Several 
were  street  urchins  whom  Mr.  Garrick 
was  convinced  had  unusual  promise 
of  ability,  and  Ann  made  him  an  allow- 
ance for  their  support  out  of  the  abun- 
dance she  had,  both  from  her  father  and 
her  profession.  Mr.  Dashwood,  who 
had  taken  to  writing  plays,  wrote  a  comedy 
for  the  children,  and  this  was  given  one 
afternoon  in  Drury  Lane  Theatre  with 


A  Georgian  Actress  209 

much  success,  the  funds  being  given  to 
the  little  actors  and  actresses  on  that 
occasion.  Ann  and  Mrs.  Garrick  had  the 
best  of  sport  in  costuming  the  children, 
and,  when  finished,  gazed  with  pride  on 
their  handiwork.  There  was  one  roguish 
orange-girl,  of  about  fifteen,  whose  genius 
was  undisputed  by  all  who  saw  her  act, 
and  to  her  development  Mr.  Garrick  gave 
much  attention. 

Ann  kept  up  many  numerous  small 
charities,  of  which  few  knew  anything  save 
the  recipient  and  herself.  There  were 
several  old  women  who  would  call  habit- 
ually on  her  at  the  greenroom,  and  always 
go  away  happy  with  a  little  present  of 
money  for  such  delicacies  as  tea  and  snuff. 

She,  herself,  had  changed,  but  in  a 
subtle  way  hard  to  define.  Some  touch 
of  sadness  had  crept  into  her  nature. 
The  womanhood  into  which  she  was 
passing  was  less  vigorous  than  her  girl- 
hood had  promised.  The  change  from 
the  long,  solitary  years,  in  which  she  knew 
only  Madame  and  Peggy,  to  the  midst  of 
the  busy  world,  had  come  too  suddenly, 


2io  A  Georgian  Actress 

and  now  its  effect  was  beginning  to  show. 
The  dreaming  child  still  lived  in  her,  and 
was  continually  wounded  and  astonished. 
She  mingled  little  with  her  fellows  in  her 
profession,  meeting  them  chiefly  in  the 
play  and  at  the  rehearsals.  It  was  not 
that  she  held  herself  aloof  from  them  in 
any  way,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  they 
who  found  her  gentle,  reserved  nature  most 
uncongenial.  They  treated  her  cordially 
and  asked  her  for  loans  that  were  never  re- 
paid, but  soon  fell  out  of  the  habit  of  in- 
viting her  to  join  them  in  their  informal 
suppers.  Her  success  was  great,  but  her 
sweetness  disarmed  all  envy,  and  many  were 
the  small  kindnesses  the  women  in  her 
company  showed  her.  The  society  of  the 
court  stood  open  to  her,  not  only  for  her 
own  sake,  but  also  for  her  father's.  George 
III.  felt  that  Sir  William  Johnson  was 
his  most  loyal  as  well  as  one  of  his  most 
powerful  subjects  in  America,  where  the 
trouble  that  had  been  brewing  for  so  long 
seemed  to  be  increasing. 

Doctor  O'Keefe  allied  himself  with  that 
body  of  men  who   appreciated    the   fact 


A  Georgian  Actress  an 

that  the  Colonies  were  being  unjustly 
taxed  to  meet  home  expenses,  and  prophe- 
sied the  misfortune  that  would  be  sure  to 
follow,  did  the  king  persist  in  his  short- 
sighted policy. 

Confident  that  Ann  would  sympathise 
in  these  views,  the  enthusiastic  young 
physician  felt  his  capricious  fancy  for  her 
return.  He  was  in  the  mood  to  have  the 
very  fact  that  she  was  an  American  appeal 
to  his  imagination.  He  had  not  been 
near  her  for  months,  and  she  was  surprised 
when  he  called  one  afternoon,  and  at  first 
feared  he  had  happened  to  hear  ill  news 
from  America,  but  soon  found  that  he 
sought  her  for  the  sake  of  pouring  out  his 
opinions  and  predictions.  He  insisted 
that  she  was  the  beautiful  embodiment  of 
his  ideal  of  American  liberty. 

This  view  of  herself  displeased  her,  and 
she  protested  vainly  her  belief  that  the 
Colonies  should  above  all  be  faithful  to 
the  mother  country.  He  put  his  own 
interpretation  upon  her  words,  and  treated 
her  always  as  a  secret  sympathiser  with 
the  rebellion  rising  in  her  country. 


212  A  Georgian  Actress 

She  felt,  although  she  could  not  have 
defined  it,  a  lurking  insincerity  in  him 
that  made  her  welcome  Mr.  Dashwood, 
whose  conservatism  and  frankness  inspired 
her  confidence.  She  was  sure  that  the 
physician's  boisterous  good  spirits  and 
wit  masked  a  real  self-seeking,  that  he 
loved  to  be  on  the  conspicuous  side,  and 
enjoyed  the  distinction  accorded  his  ex- 
treme and  loudly  expressed  political 
views.  The  lavish  hospitality  that  the 
Americans  had  shown  him  during  his 
brief  visit,  and  the  exaggerated  tales  of 
their  wealth  that  were  now  being  told, 
began  to  affect  his  imagination,  and  to 
appeal  to  his  adventurous  spirit,  as  well 
as  to  colour  his  judgment. 

While  in  this  condition  of  mind  he 
sought  Ann  one  afternoon,  and  made  to 
her  the  extraordinary  proposal  that  she 
should  marry  him  and  accompany  him  at 
once  to  America.  At  the  time,  the  two 
happened  to  be  sitting  in  the  tiny,  but 
pretentious,  garden  that  made  the  back 
yard  of  the  Garricks'  home.  Doctor 
O'Keefe  made  a  remarkable  speech,  in 


A  Georgian  Actress  213 

which  he  poured  forth  his  love,  his  politi- 
cal views,  his  plans  for  his  American  life, 
and  took  for  granted  their  immediate 
marriage. 

She  gasped  for  breath,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment could  only  stare  at  him. 

"  Say  when,  Lady  Johnson,"  he  cried, 
dropping  to  his  knees  on  the  pebbled 
walk,  and  placing  her  hand  to  his  breast ; 
"  my  heart  but  beats  for  you.  The  first 
time  I  saw  you  I  knew  you  would  be 
mine.  Ha,  my  pretty  one !  Do  not 
turn  away  your  eyes.  I  know  you  love. 
'Tis  no  time  for  a  coy  mood." 

She  struggled  to  free  her  hand,  that  she 
might  rise  from  the  bench  and  leave  him. 

"  Canst  feel  ?  Every  heart  throb  is  for 
you,"  he  cried. 

"  I  do  not  care  anything  about  your 
heart,"  she  said,  indignantly.  "  I  wish 
you  to  let  me  go.  You  have  no  right  to 
say  I  love  you."  She  managed  to  wrench 
her  hand  free,  and  pushed  him  from  her. 

He  rose  slowly,  staring  stupidly  at  her. 
For  once  his  ready  wit  deserted  him. 
Then  it  began  to  dawn  on  him  that  her 


214  -A-  Georgian  Actress 

flashing  eyes  and  scornful  face  expressed 
the  opposite  of  love.  His  heavy  face 
crimsoned. 

"  So,  madam,"  he  said,  sneering,  "  I 
have  been  used  as  a  catspaw,  a  rival,  to 
bring  Tony  Dashwood  to  terms.  I  heard 
how  he  held  off,  though  content  to  dangle. 
He  read  your  confounded  coquettish  airs 
better  than  I.  But  I  think  you'll  give 
me  a  kiss,  hey  ? " 

Ann  had  risen.  She  was  more  indig- 
nant than  frightened. 

But  she  had  no  desire  to  bandy  words 
with  him,  far  less  to  have  him  come  near 
her.  He  took  a  step  forward,  and  it  was 
the  signal  for  immediate  flight  on  her 
side.  She  gathered  up  her  skirts,  slipped 
by  him,  and  sped  down  the  path  to  the 
house.  Once  within,  she  paused  to  get 
her  breath,  and  then  went  up-stairs  to  her 
room.  One  of  its  windows  overlooked 
the  garden,  and  she  stood  concealed  be- 
hind the  curtain,  waiting  nervously  to  see 
Doctor  O'Keefe  leave.  He  stood  staring 
at  the  house  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his 
scornful  lady-love  had  vanished  for  good. 


A  Georgian  Actress  215 

He  soon  renounced  the  hope  of  seeing 
her  again,  evidently,  for  he  stooped  to  rub 
his  knee  and  to  pick  up  his  hat ;  then,  his 
face  still  red  and  muttering  to  himself,  he 
passed  out  of  the  garden.  A  moment 
later  she  heard  the  iron  gate  in  the  front 
yard  slammed  to,  and  was  relieved  to 
know  that  he  had  gone. 

She  drew  aside  the  curtain  and  sat  down 
at  the  window.  -The  garden  looked  tempt- 
ingly fresh  and  green,  but  she  was  afraid 
to  go  down  again,  thinking  he  might  re- 
turn. So  she  sat  dreaming  at  her  window 
idly,  wishing  Mr.  Dashwood  might  call. 
Her  unwelcome  suitor's  sneer  had  not 
troubled  her.  She  knew  too  well  the  de- 
votion the  other  gave  her,  and  now,  for 
the  first  time  in  their  acquaintance,  she  felt 
she  was  fond  almost  to  the  point  of  lov- 
ing him  :  The  late  afternoon  sun  shone 
bright  on  the  leaves.  The  golden  green 
shimmer  brought  back  to  mind  that  spring 
day  when  she  had  ventured  forth  alone  for 
the  first  time  from  the  castle.  How  long, 
how  very  long  ago  it  seemed  !  Was  it  not 
a  dream  ?  She  saw  the  arching  branches 


2i6  A  Georgian  Actress 

of  that  spring  forest,  with  its  mist  of  bud- 
ding green,  the  pale  blue  sky  shining 
through.  Again  in  fancy  she  followed 
the  winding  path ;  the  little  fawn  came 
and  nibbled  the  tender  grass  from  her 
hand ;  later  she  met  Mr.  Claus  coming 
on  horseback,  encountered  once  more  his 
dazed  and  wistful  look,  felt  her  own  lids 
flutter  and  droop. 

In  contrast  to  the  brutal  tone  of  Doctor 
O'Keefe,  whose  words  still  rang  in  her  ears, 
she  heard  like  remembered  music  the  voice 
of  her  first  lover. 

She  looked  into  a  London  garden  no 
longer :  she  saw  deep  into  a  forest  of  the 
New  World,  and  there  her  lover  stood. 
She  met  his  eyes  bright  with  pain  and  love 
across  the  abyss  of  the  years  of  absence, 
and,  as  her  soul  awoke  and  thus  gazed,  a 
shudder  passed  through  her  frame,  and 
she  put  her  hands  over  her  face  with  a 
sobbing  cry. 

It  was  not  Dashwood  nor  the  man  who 
had  just  left  her  that  she  loved.  She  went 
to  her  desk  and  drew  out  a  packet  of  letters. 
She  had  saved  all  that  Claus  had  written 


1  SHE   FASTENED   THE    LAST    LETTER  IN   THE    FRONT 
OF    HER   DRESS." 


A  Georgian  Actress  217 

to  her.  She  returned  to  her  seat  at  the 
window,  and  read  them  anew  and  in  or- 
der. As  she  read,  fresh  meanings  flashed 
from  the  lines.  Her  face  grew  rosy  with 
happiness,  her  breath  came  quickly,  her 
eyes  shone.  How  she  was  always  in  his 
thoughts,  always  !  She  read  on  and  on. 

"He  loves  me  !  "  she  cried.  She  had 
a  terrible  thought.  What  if  he  had  not 
loved  her !  For  it  seemed  to  her  now  as 
if  she  always  had  and  always  would  love 
him,  whether  or  not  he  had  cared  for  her. 

The  tears  flowed  down  her  face.  She 
knelt  in  front  of  the  chair  in  which  she 
had  been  sitting,  and  gathered  the  letters 
to  her  bosom. 

She  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Garrick 
calling  her  to  come  down-stairs,  and  knew 
that  the  old  couple  were  lonely  and  wanted 
her  with  them. 

She  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  "  I  will 
come  down  in  a  moment,"  she  answered, 
joyously. 

How  was  the  world  transformed  !  How 
wonderful  the  life  that  coursed  through 
her  veins  !  She  fastened  the  last  letter  in 


2i8  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  front  of  her  dress.  She  washed  her 
tear-stained  face,  and  plucked  a  red  rose 
from  the  vine  at  the  window  and  put  it  in 
her  hair.  Her  room  was  growing  dark 
and  she  lighted  the  candles  on  her  bureau. 
Was  the  luminous  reflection  in  the  mirror 
really  hers,  that  face  so  beautiful  with 
happiness,  her  own  ? 

Before  going  down-stairs,  she  went 
once  more  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
at  the  garden,  dim  in  the  twilight.  A 
single  star  shone  palely.  She  found  her- 
self wishing  for  the  night  to  come,  that, 
lying  alone  in  the  darkness,  she  might 
picture  him  to  herself  over  and  over  again. 
What  flashes  of  endearment,  what  echoes 
of  lovers'  talk  kept  rising  to  her  lips  ! 

"  This  bud  of  love  by  summer's  ripening  breath 
May  prove  a  beauteous  flower  when  next  we  meet." 

And  she  trembled  at  the  thought. 


Chapter  XIV 

OjEVERAL  mornings  later  the  post 
O  brought  her  a  letter  from  her  father. 
She  received  it  at  the  door  as  she  was 
starting  to  the  market  for  Mrs.  Garrick. 
The  morning  was  fresh  and  lovely.  The 
early  shadows  stretched  across  the  street, 
and  the  sidewalks  were  wet  with  the  dew. 
The  air  was  already  warmed  by  the  sun. 
She  opened  her  letter  and  read  it  as  she 
walked  along.  Back  of  her  came  the 
Garricks'  little  servant  with  the  market- 
basket. 

Sir  William's  letter  was  short.  He 
mentioned  the  discontent  rife  in  the  Col- 
onies briefly,  but  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
convey  his  deep  perplexity  and  his  anxiety 
for  the  outcome.  He  added  that  he 
hoped  to  see  her  in  London  in  the  near 
future,  but  could  not  tell  her  just  when  to 

expect   him.     His   going  would    depend 
219 


22O  A  Georgian  Actress 

upon  how  soon  he  could  get  his  affairs 
into  shape,  so  that  he  could  entrust  them 
into  the  hands  of  his  son  and  Captain 
Claus.  The  letter  was  a  sombre  one,  and 
she  felt  that  he  feared  the  worst  for  his 
country.  When  he  came  she  would  beg 
him  to  let  her  return  home  with  him. 

" t  To  market,  to  market,  to  buy  a  fat 
pig,' "  hummed  a  merry  voice  close  by. 

She  turned  smiling,  and  found  Mr. 
Dashwood  at  her  side. 

"  'Tis  a  charming  morning,  sir,"  said 
she.  "  I  hope  I  see  you  well.  But  I'm 
not  going  to  market  to  buy  a  fat  pig. 
I'm  going  to  the  flower  and  vegetable 
stalls,  and  I  may  pick  out  a  chicken  for 
mincing." 

"  Haven't  you  forgotten  something  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  was  puzzled  by  his  semi-reproach- 
ful air ;  then,  as  she  caught  sight  of  a  roll 
of  manuscript  tied  by  a  bit  of  ribbon  in  his 
hand,  blushed  guiltily. 

He  shook  his  finger  at  her.  "  Ah,  I 
see  you  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  put 
off  the  evil  hour." 


A  Georgian  Actress  221 

"  Indeed,  no,"  she  cried.  "  I  did  forget, 
but  I  should  have  recalled  the  appoint- 
ment we  had  soon,  and  been  very  sorry  to 
have  missed  you  —  " 

"  And  when  you  got  home  again  you 
would  have  written  me  a  note  and  told 
me  as  you  have  done  before,"  he  put  in, 
good-naturedly. 

"  Please  don't  reproach  me,"  she  begged, 
smiling,  "  you  know  what  faith  I  have  in 
your  work.  We'll  go  to  market  now  and 
then  home  again  to  the  garden,  and  you 
shall  read  me  your  new  scene.  Mr.  Gar- 
rick  thinks  you  will  write  a  play  of  note 
some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  "  he  echoed.  "  I  love 
writing  for  its  own  sake  surely,  for  my 
reward  is  never  in  the  present !  And  I 
think  I  must  love  love  for  its  own  sake, 
too,  for  you  give  me  no  hope,  Ann.  But, 
there,  forgive  me.  I  was  not  to  speak  of 
that  again,  was  I  ?  Whom  was  your  letter 
from  ?  I  hope  you  had  good  news." 

"It  was  from  my  father,"  she  answered. 
"  He  is  coming  to  London  soon,  that  is, 
as  soon  as  he  can  arrange  his  affairs,  for  I 


222  A  Georgian  Actress 

fear  we  may  be  going  to  have  trouble 
with  the  Colonies,  after  all."  Her  own 
words  caused  her  a  sudden  pang,  lest  Mr. 
Claus  might  be  wounded  or  killed  should 
war  ensue. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  con- 
cerned," said  her  companion,  sympatheti- 
cally observing  her  expression,  "  but  I  am 
not  surprised  to  hear  what  your  father  has 
written.  I  am  decidedly  in  sympathy  with 
the  Americans.  We  have  treated  them 
shamefully.  Did  you  happen  to  see  my 
verses  in  the  morning  paper  ?  No  ? 
'Twas  a  tribute  to  their  independence." 

"  Why,  it  was  only  last  week  that  you 
were  all  against  us,"  she  cried.  "  Then 
you  would  have  it  that  we  Americans 
were  all  wrong,  and  have  none  of  my  as- 
sertion that  there  was  right  on  our  side." 

"We  —  our  —  us  —  "  he  echoed,  lov- 
ing to  tease  her,  "  I  shall  begin  to  think 
Doctor  O'Keefe  is  right  and  that  we  have 
a  pretty  rebel  on  our  stage.  We  Ameri- 
cans !  We'll  have  you  refusing  to  drink 
tea  next.  This  is  terrible." 

"  I  am  at  least  consistent,"  she  retorted, 


A  Georgian  Actress  223 

with  spirit,  "and  you  know  I'm  'no  rebel. 
But  you,  sir,  are  of  a  different  opinion 
every  day." 

"  I  have  the  right  to  change  my  mind," 
he  answered. 

"  Fie  on  you,"  she  cried,  merrily,  "  to 
hide  behind  a  woman's  reason  !  " 

But  he  only  laughed.  "  Better  than  no 
reason  at  all,"  he  said. 

"  If  you  but  knew  how  Doctor  O'Keefe 
insulted  me  the  other  afternoon,  you 
would  never  mention  his  name  to  me 
again,"  said  she. 

"Insulted  you!"  he  cried;  "you  are 
mistaken.  You  must  be.  O'Keefe  is  an 
impulsive  fellow,  but,  no,  he  would  not  be 
discourteous." 

"He  was  very  impertinent.  He  asked 
me  to  marry  him,"  she  replied. 

"He  meant  that  to  be  flattering,  I'm 
sure.  Now,  Aunt  Betty  would  think  you 
missed  the  chance  of  your  life." 

"  But  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst," 
she  cried ;  "he  accused  me  of  loving  him." 

They  both  laughed  heartily  at  this. 

"  To  return  to  the  subject  of  the  Colo- 


224  A  Georgian  Actress 

nies,"  spoke  Mr.  Dashwood,  seriously, 
"did  your  father  write  what  the  attitude 
of  the  Indians  is?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  answered  Ann, 
"  but  I  will  just  look  at  his  letter  again 
and  see.  I  read  it  over  so  hastily."  She 
scanned  the  two  written  pages.  "No,  he 
writes  nothing  of  them,  but  of  course  they 
will  take  his  views.  I  am  going  home 
with  him  when  he  comes,  and  then  I  will 
write  and  tell  you  all  the  little  things  which 
are  so  interesting  and  which  most  people 
leave  out  of  their  letters." 

Her  companion  paled.  "  Then  you 
think  of  going  home  with  him.  We 
shall  miss  you."  He  could  not  say  more. 
He  had  long  since  resigned  himself  to  the 
hopelessness  of  winning  her  love,  and  be- 
come content  with  her  friendship.  His 
heart  grew  desolate.  He  struggled  to 
keep  all  emotion  out  of  his  voice,  for  he 
had  no  desire  to  cloud  her  bright  mood. 
Not  for  a  long  time  had  she  seemed  so 
happy.  He  felt  it  could  not  be  her 
father's  coming  alone  that  had  made  her 
so  joyous,  and  he  was  deeply  touched  by 


A  Georgian  Actress  225 

her  gentle  and  radiant  expression,  which 
carried  him  back  to  the  days  of  their  first 
acquaintance.  He  had  known  her  wistful 
so  many  times  that  her  present  happiness 
was  almost  pathetic  to  him.  It  seemed 
such  a  tremulous  kind  of  joy.  As  he 
walked  by  her  side  he  puzzled  over  this 
change. 

He  gained  no  clue  to  it  from  their 
conversation,  however,  for  Ann  hugged 
her  secret  to  her  heart  and  allowed  no 
one  to  guess. 

The  bloom  of  the  morning  freshness 
lay  on  the  market.  Gentlefolk  and 
vendors  mingled  freely,  and  many  a  sharp 
bargain  was  driven.  The  fruit  and  flower 
stalls  were  particularly  choice  this  day, 
and  Mr.  Dashwood,  remembering  Mrs. 
Garrick's  favourite  fruit,  bought  a  box  of 
blackheart  cherries  for  her  and  placed  it 
in  the  little  maid's  basket. 

"  I  know  how  many  there  are,"  he 
warned  the  small  servant,  "  and  I  shall 
ask  her  if  they  were  all  there,  so  you 
needn't  eat  any."  He  gave  her  a  bag  of 
ordinary  sweetmeats,  however,  so  she 


226  A  Georgian  Actress 

would  not  think  his  speech  had  been  too 
severe. 

He  bought  an  enormous  nosegay  for 
Ann.  It  had  a  paper  frilling  around  it ; 
in  the  centre  was  a  wee,  but  fragrant,  pink 
moss-rose  circled  around  by  even  rows  of 
geraniums,  pansies,  and  mignonette. 

As  they  came  out  from  the  stall,  she  saw 
Doctor  O'Keefe,  with  a  dashing  widow  on 
his  arm,  bearing  down  upon  them.  There 
was  no  way  to  escape. 

"  Give  me  your  arm,  Tony,"  she 
whispered. 

"'Tis  a  fine  day,"  said  the  Irishman, 
with  marked  pleasantness  of  manner. 

"  Oh,  good  morning,  is't  you,  Doctor 
O'Keefe?"  answered  Ann,  in  pretended 
surprise. 

"'Tis  no  other  than  your  little  O'Keefe," 
he  rejoined,  cordially.  "  I've  a  suspicion, 
ma'am,  that  you  saw  me  then  out  o'  the 
tail  of  your  eye,  but  there,  I'll  not  quarrel 
with  you.  Mr.  Dashwood,  your  poem  in 
this  morning's  paper  was  the  expression 
of  a  noble  heart.  It  fired  my  blood." 

"  Thank   you,"    answered    Mr.  Dash- 


A  Georgian  Actress  227 

wood,  extremely  pleased  by  the  praise. 
"  May  I  be  so  presuming  as  to  enquire  if 
you  heard  any  other  comments  ? " 

"  Several,  and  all  favourable,"  replied 
Doctor  O'Keefe,  forcibly. 

Ann  was  staring  at  him  in  astonishment. 
No  one  would  have  guessed  from  his 
affable  manner  the  unpleasant  scene  that 
recently  took  place  between  them.  She 
knew  his  companion  by  sight,  a  showy, 
handsome  woman. 

"  Lady  Johnson,"  he  continued,  "  allow 
me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  the 
future  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  Next  week  we  are 
to  be  married  and  set  sail  for  America." 

Ann  made  a  vain  attempt  to  conceal 
her  surprise,  and  offered  her  congratu- 
lations, "  America  is  a  beautiful  country 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  happy  there," 
she  ended. 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,  ma'am,  you're  from 
America,"  said  the  lady  ;  "  they  tell  me  the 
women  there  have  wondrous  natural  com- 
plexions. Do  tell  me,  is  it  true  ?  " 

"  Most  beautiful,  madam,"  put  in  Mr. 
Dashwood,  "  if  I  may  judge  by  one 


228  A  Georgian  Actress 

fair  example,"  and  he  bowed  low  to  his 
companion. 

"  Come,  my  jewel,  we  must  be  off," 
cried  Doctor  O'Keefe,  drawing  his  lady's 
hand  through  his  arm  and  bestowing  a 
fond  pat  upon  her  plump  ringers. 

"  Good-bye,  and  good  luck  go  with 
you,"  cried  Mr.  Dashwood,  heartily. 

"  Good-bye,  and  may  you  find  all  happi- 
ness," cried  Ann,  pressing  her  bouquet 
into  the  lady's  arms. 

They  watched  the  two  out  of  sight,  and 
that  was  the  last  she  ever  saw  of  her 
eccentric  suitor.  He  fought  in  the  Revolu- 
tion on  the  side  of  the  Colonists,  and  met 
his  death  bravely  on  the  field. 

Ann  and  her  companion  sauntered  on, 
chatting  and  laughing  over  the  incident. 
Beneath  this  light  conversation,  her  heart 
held  a  sacred  and  hushed  emotion.  There 
were  moments  when  the  busy  market 
seemed  an  unreal  show,  when  the  young 
man's  voice  fell  unheeded  on  her  ears. 
Her  soul  took  flight  to  the  far-away 
castle,  and  waited  there  the  coming  of  her 
lover,  as  he  had  come  during  the  sad  days 


A  Georgian  Actress  229 

that  followed  Madame  Van  Vrankin's 
death. 

Quite  unexpectedly,  they  came  across 
Doctor  Johnson  eating  soup  in  the  stall 
of  an  old  vegetable  woman,  who  always 
kept  a  bit  of  broth  on  hand  for  her 
customers. 

Ann  went  in  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder,  to  attract  his  attention. 

He  growled  and  shrugged  his  shoulder, 
but  did  not  look  up  to  see  who  had 
touched  him,  not  desiring  to  be  inter- 
rupted in  his  meal. 

"  You  must  pardon  me,  Doctor  John- 
son," she  said,  amused  at  his  ill-humour, 
"  but  I  happen  to  know  that  Mr.  Garrick 
wished  to  see  you  this  morning,  and  sent 
early  to  see  if  he  could  find  you  at  your 
room." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  find  me  till  I'm  done 
my  breakfast,"  he  retorted.  "  When  I 
eat,  I  eat !  When  I  talk,  I  talk,  and 
don't  confuse  the  two  !  You  are  look- 
ing well,  Lady  Johnson,"  glancing  up. 
"  Good  morning,  sir,"  to  Mr.  Dashwood. 
He  turned  his  attention  once  more  to 


230  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  soup,  swallowing  spoonfuls  of  it 
with  grunts  of  satisfaction.  Some  drops 
trickled  down  his  chin  upon  his  clothes. 

Ann's  fastidiousness  was  offended  by 
this  sight,  and  she  was  for  going  on,  but 
Mr.  Dashwood  lingered. 

"  Have  you  read  my  poem  in  this 
morning's  post,  Doctor  Johnson  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  What,  sir  ?  No,  sir,"  from  the  depths 
of  the  soup-bowl,  "  I  saw  your  poem,  sir, 
but  I  did  not  read  it.  Are  you  too  fine 
to  use  good  plain  English  prose  to  express 
your  meaning?  I'll  read  no  such  jingle, 
not  I  ! " 

"  My  subject  was  not  an  ordinary  one," 
replied  Mr.  Dashwood  ;  "  it  carried  me  on 
and  on  into  the  inspired  realms  of  poetry. 
While  I  am  aware  that  you  do  not  ad- 
mire the  Americans,  I  thought  my  poem, 
if  you  had  read  it,  might  have  influenced 
you  to  kindlier  feeling.  I  praised  their 
magnificent  independence,  and  —  " 

"  No,  sir,"  thundered  Doctor  Johnson, 
pounding  on  the  counter  with  his  fist,  "  I 
did  not  read  it.  Your  verses,  being  verse, 


A  Georgian  Actress  231 

would  not  tempt  me,  anyway,  and  when  it 
corrus  to  writing  a  poem  in  praise  of  a 
race  of  convicts  —  " 

"  Doctor  Johnson,"  interrupted  Ann, 
quivering  with  indignation,  "  I  am  an 
American  ! " 

"  So  much  the  more  credit  to  your 
powers  of  discretion,  madam,  in  fleeing  so 
abominable  a  country.  Which  way  did 
you  say  Davy  went  ? "  He  seized  his 
cane,  and,  gathering  himself  up  like  a  bear, 
turned  to  go.  The  light  fell  upon  his 
rude,  scarred  face  and  blinking  eyes. 

She  saw  that  his  eyes  were  swollen  from 
recent  weeping,  and  straightway  forgot  her 
anger  with  him.  "  I  am  afraid  you  will 
not  find  him,"  she  said,  "  for  he  told 
me  he  would  be  on  the  wing  all  day,  and 
has  by  now,  I  fancy,  started  for  the 
country,  where  he  was  to  take  lunch  with 
some  friends.  He'll  be  home  for  supper. 
Can't  you  come  and  take  tea  with  us  ? 
We're  to  have  minced  chicken  and  waffles 
and,  perhaps,  tipsy  oranges." 

"  I  will  come  with  pleasure,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Gar- 


232  A  Georgian  Actress 

rick.  I  hope  she's  over  those  twinges  of 
rheumatism  in  her  knees."  He  shook 
his  cane  at  Mr.  Dashwood.  "As  for 
you,  sir,  I  consider  you  a  traitor,  sir. 
Never  speak  to  me  again.  You  hear, 
sir?" 

He  marched  off,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Come,"  said  Ann,  turning  Mr.  Dash- 
wood  playfully  around  by  his  sleeve, 
"  come  and  help  me  to  pick  out  two  more 
chickens  for  mincing,  and  the  oranges." 


Chapter  XV 

WHEN  at  last  Sir  William  arrived, 
Ann's  happiness  was  great.  She 
found  him  unchanged,  save  that  his  dark 
face  had  taken  on  a  deeper  tinge  of  melan- 
choly. He  greeted  her  fondly  as  in  the 
old  days,  pinched  her  cheek,  and  called 
her  Nancy.  But  soon  this  affectionate 
mood  wore  away,  and  was  replaced  by  a 
sort  of  impersonal  kindness  which  made 
her  realise  how  his  love  for  his  children 
was  centred  in  John,  of  whom  he  spoke 
often.  So  silent  had  he  become  that 
his  lovely  daughter,  too,  grew  silent  in  his 
company,  and  often,  when  walking  at  his 
side  upon  the  street,  she  had  a  half-sad, 
half-humourous  consciousness  of  certain 
Indian  characteristics  he  had  developed. 
At  times  she  even  had  the  curious  fancy 
that  they  did  not  belong  to  the  same  race, 
and  that  she  was  in  the  society  of  a  Mo- 
233 


234  A  Georgian  Actress 

hawk  chieftain  in  civilian's  dress.  This 
thought  so  amused  her  by  its  absurdity 
that  she  laughed  aloud  once  or  twice, 
but  her  merriment  fell  unheeded  by 
him.  He  had  acquired  the  erect  carriage 
of  the  People  of  the  Long  House ; 
more  than  ever  was  stamped  upon  him 
their  unbending  dignity  and  habit  of 
silence. 

Still,  in  answer  to  her  persistent  and 
eager  questions,  he  told  her  of  Peggy  and 
of  John,  and  the  latter's  marriage  to  a 
desirable  and  handsome  wife.  No  one 
lived  in  the  castle  now,  and  it  was  used 
only  for  the  storing  of  merchandise  em- 
ployed in  bartering  with  the  Indians. 

She  longed  to  hear  him  speak  of  Mr. 
Claus,  but  lacked  the  courage  to  mention 
him  herself,  and  so  she  heard  his  name 
spoken  only  casually  and  at  rare  intervals. 
This  slight  mention,  however,  was  suffi- 
cient to  cause  her  heart  to  beat  violently 
and  fill  her  with  terror  lest  she  should  be- 
tray the  secret  love  that  filled  her  wak- 
ing thought  and  coloured  her  dreams  at 
night. 


A  Georgian  Actress  235 

Sir  William  remained  several  months, 
staying  at  a  tavern  not  far  from  the  Gar- 
ricks'  home.  He  had  several  audiences 
with  George  III.,  and  Ann  noticed  that 
after  each  of  these  occasions  he  sought 
her,  more  depressed  than  ever. 

Lady  Betty,  hearing  of  his  arrival,  came 
hurrying  home  from  France,  and  opened 
her  house  in  London. 

"  I  came  home  purely  on  your  account, 
William,"  she  said ;  "  dear  Lud,  to  think 
we're  all  that  are  left !  Now,  tell  me, 
how  did  you  leave  John  and  Peggy  ? 
How  like  that  child  is  to  you  in  disposi- 
tion !  Give  Ann  another  slice  of  the  roast. 
I  declare  the  Garricks  are  so  close  that  I 
believe  they  half  starve  her.  I  dined 
with  them  once  myself.  Perfect  bird's 
food." 

The  three  were  at  dinner  at  her  home. 

Sir  William  rose,  the  better  to  carve  the 
roast  skilfully.  "  My  dear  Betty,"  he  re- 
marked, "  you  always  were  an  inaccurate 
speaker.  My  daughter  Peggy  is  about 
as  much  like  me  as  this  dish  of  gravy." 

"  Peggy  is  said  to  be  like  her  mother," 


236  A  Georgian  Actress 

put  in  Ann,  gently,  "  but  John  is  like  his 
father." 

"  Still  blessed  with  a  finer  wit  than  I," 
added  Sir  William.  "  All  my  hopes  are  in 
my  son,  Betty." 

"  Don't  say  that  again,  William,"  she 
retorted ;  "  you  make  me  feel  like  a  cat 
with  my  fur  rubbed  the  wrong  way. 
Ann's  little  finger  is  worth  that  idle 
fellow's  whole  body.  Her  name  is  in 
every  one's  mouth.  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

Ann  laughed.  "  You  see  what  a  cham- 
pion I  have,  father.  But  nothing  I  could 
ever  do  could  compare  with  what  John 
did  when  the  White  Swan  burned." 

"  What  was  that,  Nancy  ?  "  he  asked. 

So  she  told  him  of  Peggy's  danger  and 
how  heroically  she  was  rescued. 

This  incident  put  him  in  the  best  of 
spirits,  and  he  talked  about  it  for  the  rest 
of  the  meal. 

Lady  Betty  had  become  stouter  and 
more  rheumatic.  She  took  her  old 
friend's  arm,  and  leant  heavily  on  her 
cane  as  well,  going  down  the  hall  to  the 
drawing-room  after  dinner. 


A  Georgian  Actress  237 

Ann  was  not  to  play  that  night,  and  the 
three  settled  down  for  a  cosy  evening. 

Mr.  Dashwood,  who  had  been  out  to 
dinner,  drifted  in  later,  and  the  younger 
people  listened  to  the  conversation  of  the 
other  two. 

Then  they  went  over  to  the  harpsichord 
and  practised  a  duet  together.  The  young 
man  was  in  the  happiest  of  humours.  His 
last  play  had  been  refused  by  Mr.  Garrick, 
but  he  had  found  a  rival  manager  who 
was  willing  to  bring  it  out  and  introduce  a 
new  actor  in  it. 

"  I  went  up  to  tell  Mr.  Garrick  before 
coming  here,"  he  said,  "  and  it  worried 
him.  He  felt  that  if  the  other  manager 
had  accepted  it  there  must  be  some  merit 
in  my  work,  after  all." 

"  Poor  Mr.  Garrick,"  said  Ann,  "  you 
must  not  blame  him  nor  think  he  hasn't 
faith  in  you.  It  is  only  that  he  has  lost 
so  much  money  in  staging  his  friends' 
plays,  and  then  been  abused  by  those  very 
friends  afterward  when  the  plays  didn't 
prove  successful,  that  he  is  fearful  of  mak- 
ing another  mistake." 


238  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Oh,  I  understand,"  he  said,  readily. 
"  If  he  hadn't  known  me  he  would  have 
regarded  my  tragedy  more  seriously.  He 
thinks  I'm  a  light  fellow." 

"  That  is  because  you  have  such  a 
pleasant  disposition,  Tony,"  she  answered, 
fondly.  "  Your  friends  think  that  it  is 
enough  for  you  to  be  just  yourself. 
Don't  contradict  me.  I  know." 

"  Some  day,  though,  they  will  see  that 
I  can  do  something,"  he  replied.  "  Don't 
you  want  to  sing?  When  I  hear  music 
I  have  fresh  visions,  and  new  ideas  come 
to  me." 

So  she  went  over  to  the  harpsichord 
and  sang  a  little  song  Madame  had  taught 
her  long  ago.  As  her  sweet  voice  rang 
through  the  adjoining  rooms,  the  two  old 
friends  in  the  back  parlour  ceased  talking 
that  they  might  listen. 

There  was  a  mirror  on  the  wall  back  of 
the  harpsichord,  and  Ann  could  see  the  re- 
flection of  Mr.  Dashwood  as  he  listened, 
his  head  flung  back,  his  eyes  raised.  He 
was  the  poet  much  more  than  he  had  ever 
been  her  lover,  and  she  had  always  been 


A  Georgian  Actress  239 

patient  and  amused  when  listening  to  his 
protestations. 

««  Oh,  thoughts,  no  thoughts,  but  wounds 

Sometimes  the  seat  of  joy, 
Sometimes  the  chair  of  quiet  rest, 
But  now  of  all  annoy. 

"  Now,  Love,  where  are  thy  laws 

That  make  thy  torments  sweet  ? 
What  is  the  cause  that  some  through  thee 
Have  thought  their  death  but  meet  ? 

*'  Thy  stately  chaste  disdain 
Thy  secret  thankfulness, 
Thy  grace  reserved,  thy  common  light 
That  shines  in  worthiness." 

Her  voice  faltered.  She  could  not  sing 
the  rest  of  the  verses. 

"  That  is  the  way  she  was,  Tony,"  she 
said,  half-turning  around,  her  ringers  still 
on  the  keys,  "  never  was  there  any  one  as 
good  as  my  dear  Madame.  It  was  that 
way  with  her,  —  her  grace  reserved,  her 
common  light  that  shone  in  worthiness  ! 
While  I  was  singing  I  thought  how  she 
had  never  taught  me  a  merry  song,  but 


240  A  Georgian  Actress 

always  sad  ones,  and  now  I  see  that  was 
because  her  heart  was  sad." 

"  Now  you  sing  something,  Tony," 
called  in  Lady  Betty,  who  never  pretended 
to  enjoy  Ann's  selections. 

So  he  took  his  place  at  the  keyboard 
and  sang  a  couple  of  jolly  drinking-songs 
that  he  had  written  and  put  to  music  him- 
self. Then  he  and  Ann  went  back  and 
joined  the  other  two  around  the  open  fire, 
for  a  rainy  evening  had  made  the  house 
chilly. 

"  I've  always  been  dying  to  ask  you, 
William,"  said  Lady  Betty,  "  how  you 
ever  happened  to  marry  an  Indian  squaw. 
I  never  could  get  a  word  out  of  Ann. 
She  is  so  close-mouthed." 

Ann  started  and  flushed.  She  was 
ashamed  to  lift  her  eyes,  and  stared  down 
into  her  lap. 

Sir  William  took  no  offence,  but  laughed 
heartily.  He  helped  himself  to  snuff. 

"You  always  had  a  nose  for  gossip, 
Betty.  I  don't  pretend  to  say  I  married 
Mollie  Brant  entirely  for  love,  though  I 
admit  I'm  fond  of  her."  He  laughed 


A  Georgian  Actress  241 

again.  "It  strengthened  my  position  with 
the  Indians.  A  touch  o'  diplomacy,  and 
Mollie  is  a  handsome  squaw  —  educated, 
too." 

Ann  had  often  longed  to  ask  him  of  her 
own  young  mother,  but  delicacy  at  the 
thought  of  his  second  wife  restrained  her. 
This  last  marriage  had  never  been  men- 
tioned between  them.  To  her  it  was 
disgraceful.  She  recalled  Owhera  and  his 
unpleasant  fancy  for  her,  and  could  not 
help  shuddering  again  at  the  thought. 

She  sought  to  engage  in  a  side  conver- 
sation with  Mr.  Dashwood. 

"  \  had  a  talk  with  Doctor  Johnson  at 
the  coffee-house  last  night,"  he  said,  "and 
he  has  about  convinced  me  he  was  right 
that  day  in  the  market." 

Her  laughter  was  irresistibly  called 
forth.  "  What  a  turncoat  you  are  !  Yes- 
terday, or  was  it  the  day  before  ?  you  were 
all  for  the  Colonies." 

"  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  about  the 
question,"  he  answered,  "  I  admit  I  veer 
about  like  a  weathercock." 

"  What's   that,  what's  that  you  say  ?  " 


A  Georgian  Actress 


asked  Sir  William,  irritably  ;  "  let  me  hear 
your  views,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"Oh,  good  Lud,"  cried  Lady  Betty, 
impatiently,  "finish  telling  me  about 
Dickie,  William.  What  do  we  care  about 
the  Colonies  ?  Neither  you  nor  I  will  live 
to  see  the  result,  in  all  probability." 

He  turned  on  her  a  strange  and  melan- 
choly look.  "No,"  he  said,  "I  shall 
never  live  to  see  it." 

From  that  time  his  mood  of  depression 
came  back  and  did  not  lift,  so  that  it  was 
a  relief  to  all  when,  shortly  after,  he  rose  to 
take  Ann  home. 

He  was  still  in  this  gloomy  condition 
of  mind  when  he  called  on  her  the  next 
afternoon. 

Her  small  parlour  adjoined  her  bed- 
room. He  took  a  seat  at  the  open 
window,  for  the  day  was  clear  and  warm, 
after  the  night  of  rain,  and  lighted  his 
pipe. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ring,  Nancy?" 
he  asked. 

"  It  was  my  mother's,"  she  answered, 
looking  up  from  her  embroidering  and 


A  Georgian  Actress  243 

extending  her  hand  unadorned  save  for  an 
old-fashioned  gold  ring  set  by  a  single 
sapphire.  "Have  you  forgotten  it? 
Madame  gave  it  to  me  long  ago,  but  she 
never  would  answer  any  of  my  questions 
lest  I  should  become  worldly  by  thinking 
too  much  on  my  mother's  grace  and 
beauty." 

"  There,  don't  take  it  off,"  he  said,  "  I 
can  see  well  enough." 

Remembering  how  freely  Lady  Betty 
had  questioned  him  the  night  before,  she 
was  encouraged  to  continue  the  present 
conversation.  "  Why  is  it  that  this  ring 
has  only  the  date  of  my  mother's  death  in 
it  and  Madame's  initials  instead  of  hers  ? " 

"  I  never  knew  that,"  he  answered,  "  let 
me  see."  This  time  he  put  out  his  hand 
for  the  ring.  A  heavy  sigh  escaped  him 
as  he  turned  it  over  in  his  palm.  There 
it  lay,  an  imperishable  memento  of  two 
women,  servant  and  mistress,  the  former 
his  wife,  the  latter  the  self-appointed  guar- 
dian of  his  daughters.  He  recalled  that 
pathetic  death-bed  marriage,  and  remem- 
bered vaguely  that,  when  the  ceremony 


244  A  Georgian  Actress 

called  for  the  ring,  Madame  Van  Vrankin 
had  taken  off  one  she  wore  and  passed  it 
to  him.  This,  then,  was  that  ring.  His 
former  dislike  for  her  revived.  It  was 
like  her,  he  thought,  to  have  the  date 
inscribed  in  the  ring,  a  positive  record  of 
his  wrong-doing.  Her  initials  had  doubt- 
less been  in  at  the  time,  but  now,  as  he 
read  them,  he  could  not  help  having  an 
enraged  feeling  as  if  she  had  signed  them 
there  in  witness  of  that  forced  and  bitter 
marriage. 

He  gave  the  ring  back  to  Ann.  Her 
wide  gaze,  at  once  so  timid  and  eager, 
touched  him.  He  had  a  sudden  realisa- 
tion of  her  gentle  breeding,  her  delicacy 
of  soul. 

"You  grow  more  like  your  grand- 
mother all  the  time,  Nancy,"  he  said, 
sighing,  "  she  had  just  your  expression." 

"It  seems  so  sad  to  have  only  the  date 
of  my  mother's  death  in  her  ring.  There 
ought  to  have  been  the  date  of  her  wed- 
ding, too,"  spoke  Ann,  wistfully. 

"  Well,  well,  don't  worry  about  it.  It's 
all  past  now,"  he  answered,  hoping  the 


A  Georgian  Actress  245 

significance  of  that  date  might  be  for  ever 
kept  from  her.  "  Madame  was  a  queer 
woman,  and  she  had  that  put  in  for  some 
outlandish  reason  of  her  own.  I  have  no 
recollection  of  it."  An  inspiration  came 
to  him.  "  Probably  she  put  the  date  of 
your  mother's  death  in  for  some  religious 
reason." 

Ann's  face  cleared.  "  Why  didn't  we 
think  of  that  before  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Often 
Madame  talked  to  me  of  death,  saying 
that  it  was  not  as  we  were  naturally 
inclined  to  think.  Here  in  this  world, 
she  said,  was  grief,  and  the  leaving  of  what 
we  thought  life  was  indeed  the  passing 
from  death  to  the  real  life.  Then  were 
we  born  again." 

He  nodded.  "  Of  course  that  was  her 
idea."  He  could  not  help  laughing,  so 
delighted  was  he  with  the  ready  wit  which 
had  suggested  an  explanation  that  satisfied 
her,  and  relieved  him  of  telling  the  abso- 
lute truth.  He  lighted  his  pipe  again  and 
puffed  away  contentedly.  This  mood  of 
self-congratulation  made  him  unusually 
communicative. 


246  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Nancy,"  he  asked,  with  a  kind  of 
grim  relish  in  the  story  he  had  to  relate, 
"  do  you  want  to  know  who  your  sainted 
Madame  was  ?  Own  up,  my  girl.  Well, 
I'll  tell  you.  She  was  an  Englishwoman, 
a  very  vain,  worldly  woman.  Oh,  I'm 
telling  you  true."  He  slapped  his  knee. 
"  A  vain,  worldly  woman  with  a  heart  like 
flint  and  a  mind  like  a  man's.  Mind  you, 
I  don't  deny  she  was  clever." 

"  I  think  I  would  rather  not  hear  any 
more,"  said  Ann.  She  felt  as  if  she  almost 
disliked  her  father. 

"  But  I  say  you  shall,"  he  cried,  "  I  want 
you  to  know  what  she  was.  She  married 
an  Albany  Dutchman,  as  brave  a  fellow  as 
ever  lived.  She  was  a  judge  of  men  and 
not  to  be  taken  in.  His  pockets  were 
lined  with  gold.  There  was  no  woman 
who  dressed,  who  wore  the  jewels  that  she 
did—" 

"  Were  they  her  jewels  ?  "  cried  Ann, 
"  I  thought  they  were  my  mother's.  I 
thought  she  was  my  mother's  companion." 

Sir  William  laughed  loud  and  long. 
"  Your  mother's  companion  !  Ay,  she 


A  Georgian  Actress  247 

must  turn  in  her  grave  to  hear  you  say 
that.  No  one  ever  had  such  stiff-necked 
pride." 

"  Then  who  was  my  mother  ? "  asked 
Ann. 

His  glance  of  consternation  did  not 
escape  her.  "  I  have  thought  lately  that 
you  did  not  wish  me  to  know,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  and  no  one  ever  speaks  of  her  to 
me.  Oh,  I  feel  there  is  something  strange 
and  terrible  about  it  all.  Perhaps  it  is 
like  some  of  the  stories  I  have  read.  Is 
she  really  living  and  in  prison,  or  is  she 
feeble-witted  and  been  shut  away  so  she 
might  not  harm  any  one  ?  "  her  voice  dying 
to  a  whisper.  And  then  the  horror  her 
own  words  conveyed  was  too  much  for 
her  self-control.  She  put  her  hands  over 
her  face.  "  No,  don't  tell  me.  I  do  not 
wish  to  know." 

He  frowned  and  shifted  in  his  chair, thor- 
oughly uncomfortable.  "  There,  there," 
he  kept  repeating,  "  there,  there,  Nancy, 
don't  cry.  Look  up  now.  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  Don't  you  want  to 
hear?" 


248  A  Georgian  Actress 

"Yes,"  she  whispered,  but  would  not 
raise  her  head. 

"  Your  mother  was  a  good  woman,  but 
very  simple  and  ignorant.  Your  sister 
Peggy  resembles  her.  She  was  beneath 
me  in  birth,  however.  We  were  —  I 
scarcely  know  how  to  put  it  —  not  exactly 
in  the  same  class  of  people.  It  was  not 
the  kind  of  a  marriage  you,  with  your 
girl's  ideas,  would  imagine.  She  was 
afraid  of  me,  and  I  was  irritable.  In  short, 
Nancy,  my  dear,  to  be  quite  frank,  my 
first  wife  had  been  at  one  time  a  servant 
to  Madame  Van  Vrankin."  He  settled 
back  in  his  chair  and  drew  a  long  breath 
of  relief. 

Ann  was  looking  apparently  unmoved 
out  of  the  window.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  he  wondered  what  his  daughter 
might  think  of  him.  But  she  was  very 
far  from  being  angry  with  him  ;  in  fact,  she 
had  no  emotion  whatever  in  regard  to 
her  father.  She  was  thinking  how  her 
excitable  imagination  had  prepared  her  for 
a  tragic  revelation,  and  the  revelation  had 
been,  instead,  only  a  very  common  and 


A  Georgian  Actress  249 

humiliating  story  of  an  unequal  marriage. 
The  knowledge  seemed  to  dull  her 
power  of  feeling.  To  her  vague  surprise, 
she  found  herself  curious  as  to  what  else 
he  might  have  to  say. 

"  What  was  it  you  were  going  to  tell 
me  about  Madame  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  have  forgotten,"  he  replied,  lamely, 
astonished  by  her  question ;  "  let  me  see, 
what  was  I  about  to  say  ?  Oh,  yes,  I 
remember."  He  was  alarmed  by  her 
strange  manner,  and  feared  the  news  might 
have  affected  her  mind.  "  I  was  going  to 
tell  you  that  she  went  abroad  for  awhile, 
leaving  her  husband  and  their  little  son  at 
home.  Van  Vrankin  didn't  wish  her  to 
go,  but  go  she  would.  There  never  was 
a  woman  more  set  in  her  ways.  Well,  he 
was  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  the  baby 
and  its  grandparents  disappeared.  It 
was  believed  the  three  had  been  mas- 
sacred." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  asked  Ann.  She  con- 
tinued to  look  out  of  the  window,  her 
eyes  set  in  an  unblenching  stare  that  saw 
none  of  the  common  street  sights  below. 


250  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  No,  the  strange  part  is  yet  to  come," 
went  on  Sir  William  ;  "  life  plays  us  queer 
tricks.  There  in  Albany  her  son  lived  and 
grew  to  manhood,  and  his  mother  never 
knew  it.  It  was  not  until  after  her  death 
that  I  learned  of  this.  The  old  couple,  it 
seemed,  had  planned  a  visit  to  friends  in 
the  country,  and  entrusted  the  child  to  the 
care  of  a  German  family,  ignorant  enough 
people.  Whatever  became  of  the  grand- 
parents no  one  knows  to  this  day.  The 
boy  was  later  adopted  by  the  Claus  family, 
who  never  knew  his  real  parentage.  They 
were  attracted  by  his  size  and  looks.  I  re- 
member him  as  a  child.  He  was  always  a 
big  fellow,  bigger  than  John.  About  a  year 
ago  the  old  German  sent  for  me,  and  con- 
fessed that  he  had  kept  the  child's  iden- 
tity secret  to  get  the  money  the  Claus 
family  paid  to  adopt  him." 

"  I  know  who  he  is,"  said  Ann,  in  a 
strained  voice.  She  commenced  to  weep. 
"  Oh,  Madame,  Madame,"  she  cried,  bit- 
terly, "  why  did  you  not  take  me  with  you 
when  you  died  ?  "  Then  she  remembered 
her  father's  presence  and  strove  to  control 


A  Georgian  Actress  251 

herself.  "  My  heart  aches  for  Mr.  Claus," 
she  said. 

"  You  need  shed  no  tears  on  his  ac- 
count," retorted  Sir  William,  dryly.  "  He 
is  hearty  and  well,  much  to  your  loss,  too, 
for  his  mother  had  left  all  her  property  to 
you  and  Peggy."  He  slapped  his  knee 
again,  and  laughed.  "  I  can't  help  think- 
ing how  tickled  she'd  be  to  know  how  I 
had  been  taken  in.  She  always  hated  me. 
I  can  look  back  now  and  see  that  when 
she  jilted  me,  years  ago,  she  did  it  with  a 
relish.  I  never  told  you,  did  I,  that  I  let 
her  have  full  sway  over  you  and  your 
sister  on  condition  that  she  left  you  both 
her  money.  Lord,  how  she  would  enjoy 
this !  But  there,  Nancy,  I  have  an  abun- 
dance for  my  children.  I  was  keeping 
the  fact  of  your  inheritance  from  her  as  a 
surprise  for  you  some  day." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  property," 
she  answered.  "  I  was  wondering  why  Mr. 
Claus  had  never  written  of  this  to  me." 

"  For  the  very  best  reason  in  the 
world,"  he  answered,  "  he  doesn't  know 
it.  I  never  told  him.  I  knew  if  I  did 


252,  A  Georgian  Actress 

he  would  pester  me  with  questions  about 
her,  and  you  know  how  little  desire  I  have 
to  discuss  that  woman.  However,  I  have 
made  it  all  right  in  my  will,  and  not  a  cent 
belonging  to  his  mother's  estate  will  be 
missing.  He'll  get  it  all  when  I  die." 

"  He  should  have  it  now,"  she  said. 

Her  father  rose  and  took  up  his  hat. 
"  He  shall  have  it  soon,"  he  said,  "  he 
shall  have  it  soon.  Sooner  than  you 
think,  my  girl.  It  is  all  right  in  my  will. 
Don't  torment  me  about  it,  Nancy.  God 
knows  I'm  in  no  humour  to  stand  it." 


Chapter   XVI 

WHEN  he  had  gone  Ann  went  back 
into  her  bedchamber  to  the  win- 
dow that  overlooked  the  garden.  Instinct 
now  drew  her  again  to  that  place  where 
she  had  known  such  joy  a  short  time  since 
in  the  revelation  of  her  love  for  Claus. 
Perhaps  she  felt  vaguely  that  here  in  this 
spot,  now  peculiarly  sacred  to  her  love, 
comfort  would  come  to  her.  She  glanced 
out  and  saw  the  old  actor  and  his  wife  in 
the  arbour  enjoying  their  afternoon  tea. 
He  was  reading  aloud  to  her  as  she 
sewed.  A  pink  shawl  was  drawn  around 
her  shoulders. 

In  contrast,  there  flashed  across  Ann's 
mind  the  thought  of  her  father's  married 
life,  —  his  first  wife  a  servant,  his  second, 
an  Indian  woman.  Shame  rose  in  her. 
She  could  not  bear  to  look  at  the  serene 
long-wedded  lovers,  and  so  turned  away 
253 


254  A  Georgian  Actress 

and  went*  over  and  lay  down  on  her  bed. 
She  tried  to  imagine  her  mother,  but  in 
vain.  She  recalled  how  it  had  always 
been  said  that  Peggy  was  like  her  mother, 
but  when  she  tried  to  put  the  little  maid's 
likeness  on  some  one  else,  the  resemblance 
faded  to  a  shadow.  She  attempted  to  im- 
press upon  her  mind  the  fact  that  her 
mother  had  been  a  servant,  but  could  not 
bring  herself  really  to  believe  it.  It  seemed 
so  grotesque  a  jest !  She  commenced  to 
laugh,  then  checked  herself,  conscience- 
stricken.  God  would  surely  punish  her 
for  not  loving  her  mother,  no  matter  who 
she  had  been.  How  many  times  Madame 
had  warned  her  against  unrighteous  pride. 
She  knelt  down  at  the  side  of  her  bed  and 
prayed  to  be  granted  a  better  heart.  But 
her  prayer  was  mechanical.  She  buried 
her  face  on  the  coverlet,  and  wept. 

"  No,  no,"  she  murmured, "  do  not  take 
my  love  from  me.  I  did  not  love  you 
less,  dear  Madame,  because  I  thought 
you  were  my  mother's  companion.  He 
should  not  cease  to  love  me  because  I  am 
her  child.  Oh,  no,  no  !  " 


A  Georgian  Actress  255 

Voices  in  the  hall  below  roused  her  to 
consciousness  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  that  she  was  going  to  play  that  even- 
ing. She  bathed  her  eyes  and  went  over 
and  sat  down  at  the  window.  Dusk  was 
blurring  the  familiar  outlines  of  the  gar- 
den. The  old  couple  had  gone  inside. 
The  twilight  breeze,  rising  cool,  touched 
her  fevered  face.  Peace  fell  upon  her 
spirit.  But  through  sheer  nervous  weak- 
ness an  occasional  tear  rolled  down  her 
face.  The  supper-bell  rang,  and  she  went 
down-stairs. 

The  Garricks,  with  their  habitual  exqui- 
site tact,  ignored  the  fact  that  she  had  been 
weeping.  Their  glances  one  to  the  other 
might  have  been  interpreted  thus : 

"That  terrible  half-Indian  father  made 
her  weep  while  here  this  afternoon.  And 
she  so  sweet  and  gentle  !  " 

And  little  Mrs.  Garrick  further  con- 
veyed her  indignation  to  her  husband  by 
scolding  the  maid  sharply  because  the 
toast  was  cold,  and  ordering  a  warm  piece 
with  marmalade  for  Ann,  to  whom  this 
was  all  so  apparent  that  their  kindness,  in 


256  A  Georgian  Actress 

her  present  sensitive  mood,  proved  almost 
the  touch  too  much  for  her  self-control. 

Sir  William  came  to  see  her  play  that 
night,  and  took  her  to  the  coffee-house 
for  lunch  afterward.  It  was  not  in  her 
nature  to  judge  any  one,  far  less  one  whom 
she  loved,  and  so  she  clung  to  him  in  her 
desolation,  and  tried  to  comfort  herself 
by  thinking  his  first  marriage  was  the 
result  of  the  romantic  and  foolish  love 
of  a  young  man  for  one  beneath  him  in 
station.  She  felt  that  they  two  were 
banded  together  against  the  very  memory 
of  his  first  wife,  and  felt  a  mutual  resent- 
ment toward  mentioning  her  name  again. 
Never  before  had  Sir  William  and  his 
daughter  been  in  such  close  sympathy. 
Each  was  thankful  to  the  other  for  not 
referring  to  the  painful  conversation  of 
the  afternoon,  and  in  their  new-born  soft- 
ness they  lingered  over  their  coffee  as 
lovers  might,  and  were  reluctant  to  part 
when  the  fleeting  hours  reminded  them 
of  bed.  He  noticed  that  she  no  longer 
wore  the  ring. 

When   she   had   undressed   that    night 


A  Georgian  Actress  257 

and  knelt  again  by  her  bed,  she  found 
that  she  could  not  pray,  and  so  knew  that 
her  heart  had  become  hard  and  that  she 
was  wicked  to  feel  as  she  did.  So  she  got 
the  ring  out  again  from  her  jewel-casket, 
and  replaced  it  on  her  finger  in  repentant 
tenderness.  Then  she  snuffed  the  candle, 
and  climbed  the  steps  to  her  high-cano- 
pied bed  and  composed  herself  to  slumber. 
But  she  did  not  fall  asleep.  Her  thoughts 
became  light  and  fanciful.  Charming 
ideas,  snatches  of  verse  and  song,  floated 
through  her  mind.  She  could  not  under- 
stand this  reaction  from  her  mood  of  sor- 
row, but  lying  there  on  her  pillow  in  the 
darkness  she  accepted  the  change  gladly. 
She  tried  to  think  of  Mr.  Claus,  and  real- 
ise that  he  was  Madame's  son,  but  could 
not,  and  instead  found  herself  involun- 
tarily planning  a  garden  of  the  flowers 
she  loved  best.  This  brought  to  memory 
the  tulip  beds  in  spring  at  home,  which 
she  and  Peggy  at  Madame's  decree  had 
tended  so  carefully  in  memory  of  their 
dear  mother.  For  she  was  their  dear 
mother,  cried  out  Ann's  heart  in  sudden 


258  A  Georgian  Actress 

loyal  protest,  their  dear  mother,  no  matter 
who  she  had  been !  She  remembered 
how  Madame  had  told  her  that  she  had 
died  very  young,  and  was  only  a  girl  in 
years.  Ann  could  see  Peggy  so  well  in 
fancy,  the  strong,  square  little  figure,  the 
sky-blue  eyes,  the  rosy  skin,  and  long 
fair  hair.  Ah,  how  could  she  help  but 
love  her  mother  for  the  sake  of  that  dear 
sister  who  was  so  like  her  ?  All  that  was 
protecting  in  her  nature  went  out  to  her 
mother's  memory  in  a  wave  of  tenderness 
that  was  born  of  a  kind  of  impersonal 
pity  rather  than  love. 

Commencing  with  this  night,  her  mother 
was  ever  after  vaguely  enshrined  in  Ann's 
affections  as  a  mere  girl,  a  gentle,  timid, 
far-off"  likeness  of  Peggy,  early  fading  out 
of  life,  and  whose  sacredness  of  mother- 
hood for  ever  put  away  all  shame  of  her 
lowly  origin.  Yet  so  instinctive  her  pride, 
she  never  could  be  convinced  in  feeling, 
though  she  was  in  mind,  that  the  servant 
had  been  her  mother.  She  unconsciously 
grew  to  consider  herself  only  her  father's 
daughter. 


A  Georgian  Actress  259 

As  she  lay  now  looking  at  the  strip  of 
deep  blue  that  marked  the  window,  the 
chimes  rang  out  the  hour  of  two.  She  was 
very  wakeful. 

She  rose  and  put  on  her  wrapper  and 
slippers,  drew  the  curtain  at  her  window, 
and  lighted  the  candles  on  her  table  in 
the  next  room.  Then  she  sat  down  to 
write  a  letter  to  Mr.  Claus.  Her  hair 
had  slipped  from  the  pins  that  held  it, 
and  lay,  a  dark  cloud  on  her  shoulders, 
clad  in  the  blue  gown.  Her  cheeks  grew 
rosy,  her  eyes  shone  with  the  happy  ex- 
citement of  writing  to  him.  She  had  an 
entire  trust  in  his  love.  Was  not  the  fact 
that  she  loved  him  double  proof  of  his 
love  ?  She  told  herself  now  that  she  had 
loved  him  from  the  first  time  she  saw 
him,  but  had  not  realised  it.  She  wrote 
him  how  she  had  learned  of  his  relation 
to  her  beloved  Madame,  but  begged  him 
not  to  let  her  father  know  that  she  had 
written,  fearing  to  distress  him  at  a  time 
when  he  found  his  other  troubles  hard  to 
bear.  But  she  felt  it  was  due  Mr.  Claus 
to  know  at  once  the  secret  of  his  own  iden- 


160  A  Georgian  Actress 

tity.  She  wrote  till  dawn,  then  brought 
her  letter  to  a  close,  sealed  and  directed 
it,  snuffed  the  candle,  and  lay  down  on  the 
bed  once  more,  too  sleepy  even  to  draw 
the  coverlet  over  her.  In  a  few  moments 
she  had  passed  into  profound  slumber. 

The  sun  of  the  late  morning  was  stream- 
ing like  gold  into  her  room  when  she  woke 
to  find  herself  lying  on  the  outside  of  the 
bed,  still  begowned  and  slippered,  with  her 
hair  tumbling  about  her  shoulders.  Some 
one  had  been  in  and  thrown  an  afghan  over 
her  that  she  might  not  catch  cold.  Her 
first  thought  was  of  the  letter,  and  she  had 
a  momentary  thrill  of  fear  to  think  of  all 
she  had  been  tempted  to  write,  and  then 
felt  a  rush  of  relief  to  know  she  had  not 
sent  it  as  yet,  and  could  destroy  it.  She 
could  not  help  thinking  how  terrible  it 
would  have  been  if  she  had  sent  the  letter 
and  unconsciously  betrayed  her  love. 

As  she  lay  still  drowsy  and  rosy  from 
slumber,  the  small  servant  opened  the 
door  softly  and  peeked  in  at  her,  then, 
seeing  that  she  was  awake,  hurried  away 
to  bring  up  her  breakfast. 


A  Georgian  Actress  261 

When  she  returned  bearing  the  dainty 
tray  Mrs.  Garrick  had  arranged,  and  on 
which  Mr.  Garrick  had  laid  a  posy  of 
pansies,  she  found  Ann  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room  with  the  air  of  a 
tragedy  queen,  speechless  with  indignation 
as  she  pointed  to  the  table. 

Rosalie  trembled.  "  I  thought,  seeing 
as  you  wrote  it,  you  wanted  it  sent,  ma'am, 
and  so  I  gave  it  to  the  postboy  when  he 
came  this  morning."  The  dishes  clat- 
tered on  the  tray  she  held.  It  had  been 
a  habit  of  Rosalie's  to  listen  in  ecstatic 
awe  at  the  keyhole  while  the  great  actor 
recited  his  lines,  and  it  needed  but  a 
glance  from  his  terrible  eyes  to  impress 
a  reprimand  from  Mrs.  Garrick  which 
otherwise  would  have  gone  unheeded. 
So  now,  when  Ann  turned  upon  her  that 
same  dreaded  glance,  the  small  maid's 
soul  quaked  within  her.  She  set  the 
rattling  tray  down  on  a  chair,  and  fled. 

The  next  month  Sir  William  sailed  for 
home.  Ann  entreated  him  to  allow  her 
to  go,  too.  He  refused,  confident  that 
the  safest  and  best  place  for  her  would  be 


262  A  Georgian  Actress 

in  England  until  the  trouble  with  the 
Colonies  had  either  blown  over  or  been 
settled.  He  also  expressed  his  desire 
that  she  should  leave  the  stage,  but  when 
she  objected  to  being  left  alone  in  Lon- 
don, lacking  even  her  beloved  profession, 
he  gave  in  so  readily  that  she  was  con- 
vinced he  was,  on  the  whole,  indifferent 
to  her,  and  that  his  interests  lay  out- 
side. 

When  she  bade  him  good-bye  at  the 
pier  she  had  a  premonition  that  she  would 
never  see  him  again. 

Lady  Betty,  who  came  to  see  her  old 
friend  embark,  cried  bitterly  when  she 
said  good-bye,  and  wished  him  a  pleasant 
voyage. 

"  The  years  have  gone  by  so  fast, 
William,  and  we're  nearing  the  end.  We 
shall  never  see  each  other  again,  and  we're 
the  last  of  the  circle.  Ah,  William,  the 
Irish  heart  is  true  to  the  old  days  and  the 
old  friends." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her.  "  Good-bye, 
Betty.  We'll  see  each  other  again  some- 
time, and,  who  knows,  Nancy  Walton, 


A  Georgian  Actress  263 

too.  Cheer  up.  The  next  world  may  find 
us  young  again." 

Then  he  turned  and  kissed  his 
daughter's  cold,  trembling  lips.  "  Take 
care  of  yourself,  my  girl." 

It  was  a  clear,  bright  day,  and  the  two 
women  watched  for  long  his  tall  figure  at 
the  ship's  side,  his  dark  blue  cape  flapping 
in  the  wind  and  showing  the  scarlet  lining. 

Ann  grew  to  feel  that  if  she  would  ever 
see  her  father  again  she  must  follow  him 
to  America.  At  last  she  became  deadly 
homesick,  and  resolved  to  disregard  his 
wishes  and  go  home.  She  announced  her 
intention  to  Mr.  Garrick  one  afternoon  as 
they  sat  reading  over  the  manuscript  of  a 
new  play. 

For  the  first  time  she  encountered  his 
anger.  He  thrust  the  manuscript  violently 
aside. 

"And  pray,  Lady  Johnson,"  he  cried, 
harshly,  "  what  is  to  become  of  all  my 
instruction  ? " 

Amazed  by  his  manner,  his  formal 
address,  she  stared  at  him,  too  dumb- 
founded to  reply. 


264  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Pray,  what  is  to  become  of  my  in- 
struction ?  "  he  repeated.  "  What,  is  all 
my  instruction  to  be  thrown  aside,  that 
you  may  follow  out  your  whim  to  go 
home  and  to  leave  the  stage?  I  have  a 
new  name  for  you.  You  shall  be  called 
Madame  Consideration.  How  do  you 
like  your  new  name,  Lady  Johnson  ?  " 

Resentment,  mingled  with  compassion 
for  this  trembling  wrath  of  old  age,  rose 
in  her  breast.  "  Mr.  Garrick,  have  I  no 
right  to  think  of  my  own  happiness  ?  " 

He  made  a  despairing  gesture.  "  Your 
own  happiness !  Ah,  what  has  changed 
you  so  ?  Formerly,  your  happiness  lay  in 
the  honour  of  upholding  your  great  art. 
I  have  it !  You  love  some  one !  But 
whom  ?  There's  the  question." 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  with  burning  face, 
"  you  are  mistaken." 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  "  he  cried,  piteously. 
"  Ann,  Ann,  my  beloved  pupil,  are  you 
going  to  fail  the  old  man  ?  My  art,  my 
art,  what  will  become  of  thee  when  I  am 
gone  ?  Who  will  carry  on  my  teachings  ? 
The  stage  will  sink  to  its  former 


A  Georgian  Actress  265 

level.  What  has  availed  my  life-devo- 
tion ?  " 

He  waited  her  reply,  then,  as  she  did 
not  speak,  his  mood  passed  from  self-pity 
to  rage. 

"  Ungrateful,"  he  cried,  "  I  pluck  you 
from  my  heart.  Oh,  my  Shakespeare, 
what  have  I  not  learned  from  thee? 
For  what  hast  thou  not  prepared  me? 
Behold,  I  am  indeed  a  Lear  in  my  desola- 
tion, but  lacking  a  Cordelia  to  comfort 
me.  With  him  can  I  cry : 

" '  You  heavens,  give  me  but  patience,  patience  I 

need, 

You  see  me  here,  you  gods,  a  poor  old  man, 
As  full  of  grief  as  age  ;  wretched  in  both  — ' ' 

"  Mr.  Garrick,"  cried  Ann,  indignantly, 
"I  am  —  " 

He  raised  his  trembling  hand  to  silence 
her. 

"  '  Here  I  disclaim  all  my  paternal  care, 
Propinquity  and  property  of  blood, 
And  as  a  stranger  to  my  heart,  and  me  hold  thee 
for  ever.'  " 

He  paused,  choking  with  emotion.  It 
was  his  greatest  play.  Never,  even  when 


266  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  whole  house  had  melted  into  tears, 
had  he  read  the  lines  more  splendidly. 
But  now  his  one  hearer  sat  seemingly 
unmoved.  Chagrined  at  his  failure  to 
touch  her  heart,  the  old  actor  lost  all 
thought  of  acting.  He  bowed  his  head 
on  his  arms  and  wept. 

" '  I  loved  her  most  and  thought  to  set 
my  rest  on  her  kind  nursery,'  "  he  mur- 
mured. 

It  was  a  last  appeal.  Ann's  heart 
melted.  She  never  could  understand 
why  this  should  have  caused  her  to  smile 
with  a  certain  sad  humour.  Her  own 
mood,  at  the  time,  was  such  a  desolate 
one.  She  rose  and  went  around  the  table 
and  touched  his  shoulder. 

"  My  dear  master,"  she  said,  gently, 
"  my  dear,  good,  kind  friend,  I  will  re- 
main with  you.  I  will  do  as  you  wish." 

He  put  up  his  hand  to  take  hers,  but 
did  not  lift  his  head.  For  a  little  while 
there  was  silence.  Then  at  last  he  looked 
up.  His  wonderful  eyes  glistened  with 
tears,  and  spoke  the  gratitude  his  tongue 
failed  to  utter. 


A  Georgian  Actress  267 

After  he  had  gone,  she  collected  the 
scattered  pages  of  the  manuscript  and  put 
them  in  order.  Then  she  put  on  her 
bonnet,  tying  the  wide  pink  ribbons  under 
her  chin  with  habitual  carefulness,  drew  on 
her  black  silk  mitts,  and  went  down-stairs 
to  the  basement  to  get  her  dog,  an  * 
Italian  greyhound.  It  was  a  gift  from 
Mr.  Dashwood,  and  had  a  silver  plate 
bearing  its  name  on  its  collar. 

She  went  for  a  long  walk  in  the  park, 
and  came  back  to  dinner  calmed  and 
refreshed,  with  a  lofty  serenity  of  soul. 
She  felt  that,  in  some  way,  her  sacrifice  to 
Mr.  Garrick  atoned  for  her  one  dis- 
obedience to  Madame. 


Chapter  XVII 

SIGNS  of  trouble  with  the  Colonies 
grew  more  portentous.  Claus,  re- 
ceiving Ann's  letter  at  this  time  when 
all  was  anxiety,  for  war  seemed  inevitable, 
was  obliged  to  curb  his  impulse  to  go  to 
her.  The  arrival  of  her  letter,  aside  from 
its  contents,  was  a  surprise.  It  was  so  long 
since  he  had  heard  from  her,  that,  despair- 
ing, he  had  schooled  himself  to  renounce 
all  hope.  His  servant  brought  it  to  him 
as  he  sat  alone  in  the  library  at  Johnson 
Hall  reading  some  speeches  by  public 
men,  that  had  appeared  in  the  news- 
papers, and  which  he  had  missed  at  the 
time  of  their  publication  by  absence  in 
the  north,  where  there  had  been  fresh  con- 
flict between  the  settlers  and  the  Indians. 
He  had  returned  much  depressed,  having 
lost  a  number  of  the  men  who  had  gone 

up  with  him.     Whichever  way  he  turned, 
268 


A  Georgian  Actress  269 

disaster  pressed  in  upon  the  Americans. 
He  heard  often  from  Sir  William,  who 
wrote  frankly  of  the  state  of  things  in 
England,  and  deplored  the  obstinate, 
short-sighted  policy  of  George  III.  As 
Ann  was  always  wistful  of  hearing  her 
father  speak  of  Claus,  though  it  were  no 
more  than  to  mention  his  name,  so  the 
young  man  on  his  part  invariably  glanced 
first  down  Sir  William's  written  pages  to 
see  if  they  contained  that  beloved  name. 

"  A  letter  for  me,  Caesar  ? "  he  said, 
taking  it  from  the  negro.  As  he  glanced 
at  the  address  and  recognised  the  hand- 
writing, a  thrill  of  anticipation  ran  through 
him.  For  a  moment  he  held  it  silently, 
mingled  emotions  rising  in  his  breast,  then 
put  it  in  his  pocket  and  rose.  He  would 
not  read  it  here. 

He  ordered  the  slave  to  saddle  his 
horse  for  him.  "  I  do  not  want  you  this 
afternoon,  Caesar,"  he  added. 

The  disappointed  Caesar  watched  his 
master  take  the  road  to  Johnson  Castle. 
When  he  was  out  of  sight,  the  negro 
mounted  and  followed  at  a  discreet  dis- 


270  A  Georgian  Actress 

tance.  He  was  all  agog  with  curiosity, 
for  it  was  long  since  he  had  been  ordered 
to  remain  at  home  while  his  master  went 
abroad. 

Claus  rode  slowly,  postponing  the  mo- 
ment when  the  opening  of  the  letter 
should  risk  the  dreamlike  happiness  into 
which  its  coming  had  thrown  him.  It 
meant  so  much  that  she  should  even  write 
to  him  after  her  long  silence,  that  this 
alone  contented  him  for  the  present.  He 
could  not  know  that  the  sudden  revelation 
to  herself  of  her  love  for  him  had  made 
her  timid  and  afraid  to  write  lest  he  might 
divine  her  secret,  and  that  the  letter  he 
now  held  had  been  written  on  impulse, 
and  been  posted  without  her  knowledge. 

Sadness  crept  over  him  as  he  ap- 
proached the  castle.  How  far  the  fairy 
princess  of  his  boyish  dreams  had  wan- 
dered !  He  felt  he  had  become  careworn 
and  worldly,  the  meaner  duties  of  every 
day  for  ever  holding  him  from  his  greater 
aspirations,  even  from  seeing  her.  For 
he  had  to  face  the  fact  that  he  was  a  poor 
man,  and  that  his  first  duty,  if  he  would 


A  Georgian  Actress  271 

ever  marry,  was  to  assure  himself  of  his 
livelihood. 

The  heavy  gate  to  the  stone  wall  was 
closed,  but  he  had  a  key,  and  dismount- 
ing, he  tied  his  horse,  and  unlocking  the 
gate,  went  inside.  The  sun  was  shining 
warm  and  bright  on  the  stone  bench  where 
Naukoska,  toothless  old  watch-dog,  had 
sat  so  many  years.  Here  he  seated  him- 
self. Still  he  hesitated  to  open  the  letter. 
He  gave  himself  up  to  memories  bitter- 
sweet. His  gaze  wandered  over  the  Castle 
front.  There  at  the  upper  window,  now 
so  inimically  barred,  had  once  gleamed 
the  candle  by  whose  light  he  and  Peggy 
had  found  Ann  dancing.  He  recalled 
his  conversation  with  Madame  Van 
Vrankin,  that  strange  and  admirable  gen- 
tlewoman, how  he  had  stood  on  the  snow 
outside  after  she  had  bidden  him  good 
night,  and  watched  the  yellow  gleam  in 
the  window,  and  listened  to  the  musical 
tinkling  of  Ann's  spinet.  Back  of  the 
castle  he  knew  full  well  how  deserted 
and  overgrown  by  weeds  and  briars  the 
garden  was.  The  once  carefully  tended 


272  A  Georgian  Actress 

tulip  beds  planted  by  the  High  Dutch 
girl  were  heaped  with  drifts  of  decaying 
leaves.  Last  spring  he  had  ridden  over, 
and  found  a  few  blossoms. 

Reluctantly,  for  he  had  a  premonition 
of  the  death  of  his  hopes,  he  broke  the 
seal  of  the  little  letter. 

He  commenced  reading  it,  and  when 
he  had  finished  his  world  had  turned 
around.  He  who  had  been  Daniel  Claus 
was  in  reality  the  son  of  that  brave  soldier, 
Peter  Stuyvesant  Van  Vrankin.  And  his 
mother,  the  pale,  cold  Madame  who  had 
watched  over  Ann's  girlhood.  At  first 
the  knowledge  dazed  him.  When  he 
could  again  think  clearly  he  found  his 
mind  reverting,  not  to  the  hours  spent 
with  Ann,  but  going  over  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  and  now  sacred  meeting  with 
Madame.  He  recalled  her  pleasure  when 
he  had  mentioned  the  bravery  of  her  hus- 
band ;  again  he  followed  her  down  the 
stairs  to  the  room  below,  saw  her  set 
the  candle  on  the  table  and  vanish  in  the 
darkness  beyond  the  circle  of  light  to 
bring  him  back  wine  and  cake  and  fruit ; 


A  Georgian  Actress  273 

heard  once  more  the  sweet  and  subtle 
charm  of  her  voice.  How  heartily  he  had 
accorded  her  the  enthusiastic  admiration 
of  a  young  man  as  she  sat  opposite  talk- 
ing to  him,  no  longer  a  saint,  but  revealing 
herself  a  witty  and  worldly  person ! 

He  re-read  Ann's  letter  and  a  sense  of 
comfort  stole  over  him.  Was  it  not  Ann 
who  of  her  own  sweet  will  had  written  to 
him  this  priceless  secret?  Love  for  her 
alone  filled  his  heart.  The  knowledge  of 
his  parents  grew  vague  and  like  a  dream. 
Again  he  was  Daniel  Claus,  with  his  old 
ambitions  strengthened.  He  went  around 
to  the  garden  and  found  a  single  scarlet 
tulip  blowing  among  the  weeds  and 
plucked  it.  Poor  little  High  Dutch  girl, 
he  thought,  who  had  known  no  lover  but 
a  tyrant !  And  she,  he  had  always  known, 
was  Ann's  mother.  How  unimportant 
this  question  of  parentage  seemed  !  Ann 
and  he  were  in  the  world  together,  and  that 
being  so,  what  mattered  it  how  or  why 
they  came  ?  Only  let  them  be  once  more 
with  each  other,  cried  his  heart.  Before 
going,  he  went  inside  the  Castle  and  wan- 


274  A  Georgian  Actress 

dered  through  the  desolate  rooms.  He 
went  up-stairs  to  the  drawing-room.  There 
was  the  embroidery-frame,  a  sheet  flung 
over  it  to  protect  the  work.  He  drew 
off  the  cover.  There  were  his  mother's 
stitches  set  in  in  the  colours  she  loved  ;  the 
purple  that  was  as  the  twilight ;  the  blue, 
like  the  sky  at  noon ;  the  green,  tender 
and  clear  as  the  green  of  spring ;  the  glory 
of  the  scarlet  colour  that  was  best.  Had 
not  Ann,  working  to  finish  the  uncom- 
pleted work  after  Madame's  death,  told 
him  all  this  ?  The  pictures,  the  books, 
and  furniture  were  covered  with  dust,  and 
the  room  had  a  musty  odour  from  being 
closed  for  so  long.  He  opened  Ann's 
spinet.  The  yellowed  ivory  keys  were 
also  thick  with  dust.  He  touched  them. 
The  sweet  tinkle  sounded  remote  like  an 
echo  from  the  past.  All  was  desolation. 
The  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  my 
darling,"  he  cried,  "  shall  I  ever  see  you 
again  ? " 

But  when  he  had  once  more  mounted 
his  horse  and  turned  homeward,  the 
precious  letter  warm  against  his  breast,  his 


A  Georgian  Actress  275 

hope  revived  and  brought  him  an  almost 
wild  happiness.  Through  the  sunset  woods 
at  a  turn  of  the  road  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  galloping  steed  bearing  the  ludicrous 
figure  of  Caesar,  the  tails  of  the  blue  coat 
lined  with  canary  satin,  that  had  been  Sir 
John's,  flying  in  the  wind.  He  was 
hurrying  to  get  home  before  his  master. 

Claus,  indulgent  now  to  all  the  world, 
smiled.  He  saw  the  faint  silver  crescent  of 
the  new  moon  high  above  the  yellow  west. 
Ah,  little  moon,  he  thought,  sailing  so 
serenely,  what  had  she  not  brought  him  ! 

He  wrote  to  Ann  that  night,  pouring 
out  his  gratitude,  his  devotion,  the 
thoughts  that  had  been  his  that  after- 
noon. But  the  letter  so  freighted  with 
love,  and  the  tulip  he  enclosed,  was 
doomed  never  to  reach  her,  and  was  lost 
in  transportation.  He  told  her  that  as 
soon  as  Sir  William  returned  he  would 
obtain  leave  to  go  to  see  her  in  London. 
But  when  his  patron  did  at  last  return, 
sorely  distressed  in  mind,  he  needed  all 
the  younger  man's  help  and  advice.  John 
was  as  a  broken  reed  to  lean  upon,  and  was 


276  A  Georgian  Actress 

enjoying  a  gay  visit  with  his  wife  at  her 
old  home  in  New  York.  Peggy  was  with 
them. 

The  Hall  was  indescribably  gloomy. 
The  two  men  often  sat  in  almost  un- 
broken silence  at  their  meals  together, 
awaiting  the  turn  of  public  affairs.  The 
trouble  between  the  Tories  and  Whigs 
was  now  extending  among  the  Indians, 
and  it  was  growing  to  be  a  serious  ques- 
tion as  to  the  side  the  savages  would  take. 
Men  of  the  opposing  parties  sought  Sir 
William  at  various  times  to  find  out  on 
which  side  he  would  throw  his  influence 
with  the  Indians.  The  Whigs,  while  be- 
lieving that  outwardly  he  was  loyal  to 
George  III.,  yet  cherished  the  thought 
that  he  secretly  sympathised  with  them, 
and  when  the  time  ripened  would  come 
out  boldly  for  their  interest. 

The  Tories  were  confident  of  his  alle- 
giance to  the  Crown,  but  could  not  force 
him  to  a  positive  declaration  of  the  stand 
he  would  maintain. 

Matters  with  the  Indians  came  to  a 
sudden  climax,  owing  to  the  brutal  and 


A  Georgian  Actress  277 

unwarranted  murder  of  one  of  their  chiefs, 
who  had  been  openly  friendly  and  devoted 
to  the  white  men  that  betrayed  him. 

The  immense  influence  Sir  William 
exerted  over  the  People  of  the  Long 
House  was  now  made  apparent.  Instead 
of  rushing  to  massacre,  they  came  first  to 
him  for  his  advice,  knowing  he  had  never 
treated  them  falsely.  As  fast  as  the  chiefs 
arrived,  he  saw  each  one  privately  and 
persuaded  him  to  refrain  from  war,  trust- 
ing to  him,  Sir  William,  to  see  that  justice 
was  done.  Nearly  six  hundred  Indians 
came,  many  of  them  travelling  from  great 
distances.  Again,  as  so  often  in  the 
past,  the  hospitable  doors  of  the  Hall  were 
flung  wide,  and  bountiful  entertainment 
set  before  the  dark,  sombre  guests  who 
came  hurrying,  bearing  hearts. in  which 
smouldered  hatred  and  lurking  revenge. 

War  had  already  broken  out  in  Vir- 
ginia. The  news  first  reached  Sir  Wil- 
liam and  young  Captain  Claus  as  they  sat 
at  breakfast  at  a  long  table  with  some 
of  the  Indians.  The  bearer  was  from 
Albany. 


27 8  A  Georgian  Actress 

The  old  baronet  showed  his  first  sign 
of  emotion  in  the  presence  of  the  savages. 
He  groaned  aloud.  "  It  is  the  beginning 
of  the  end." 

That  day  he  went  to  his  bed  sick. 
The  next  day,  which  was  Saturday,  he 
rose  and  attended  the  council  which  was 
held  in  a  natural  clearing  in  the  forest 
back  of  the  Hall.  Several  great  warriors 
spoke. 

Fortunately,  Sunday  intervened,  giving 
Sir  William  a  day  in  which  to  rest  and  to 
prepare  his  answer.  He  spent  most  of 
the  day  in  the  library,  looking  over  and 
arranging  some  papers  with  the  help  of 
Claus.  In  the  morning  he  held  a  short 
service  from  the  prayer-book,  for  those  In- 
dians that  were  Christianised,  and  ordered 
games  started  for  the  general  entertain- 
ment in  the  afternoon.  He  spoke  several 
times  of  John,  wishing  that  he  were  home. 
His  handsome  Indian  wife  remained  in  the 
library  with  him  and  Captain  Claus.  In 
exploring  his  personal  belongings,  he  came 
across  a  string  of  beads  that  had  gotten 
into  his  drawer  by  some  chance. 


A  Georgian  Actress  279 

"  Something  for  you,  Mollie,"  he  said, 
and  tossed  them  over  to  his  wife.  But 
she,  proud  as  himself,  her  quick  mind  hav- 
ing gained  that  he  had  only  contempt  for 
her  race's  love  of  ornament,  let  the  beads 
drop  to  the  floor,  and  continued  unmoved 
her  weaving  of  sweet-grass  into  a  basket. 

At  this  he  laughed  for  the  first  time  in 
many  days. 

The  day  had  been  almost  unbearably 
warm.  In  the  evening  a  thunder-storm 
came  up.  Claus  stood  at  a  window  and 
watched  it,  finding  a  sympathy  in  nature 
with  his  restless  and  gloomy  mood.  He 
had  not  received  Ann's  answer  to  his 
letter.  There  had  been  time  for  it  to 
have  reached  him  had  she  replied  within  the 
month. 

Sir  William  gave  his  answer  the  next 
day,  speaking  for  several  hours  in  a  hot 
July  sun  with  the  full  force  of  his  old-time 
eloquence.  He  pleaded  with  the  Indians 
not  to  rush  into  war,  but  to  await  the 
course  of  law,  and  strove  to  impress  upon 
them  that  he  would  see  justice  done. 
When  he  had  finished  it  was  noon.  The 


280  A  Georgian  Actress 

Indians  then  went  to  have  their  midday 
meal  and  to  smoke,  spending  the  afternoon 
in  conference  over  the  answer  they  wished 
to  make. 

But  Sir  William  never  heard  their  reply. 
He  became  suddenly  faint  and  turned 
to  his  young  aide,  who  supported  him  to 
his  room,  where  he  lay  down.  Neither 
thought  his  attack  serious,  but  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  left  alone.  Claus  sat  by 
the  window  and  watched  the  glowing 
afternoon  pass  away.  He  could  not  put 
his  mind  on  reading  nor  did  he  care  to 
smoke.  He  thought  that  he  would  like 
to  ask  Sir  William  more  of  Madame  Van 
Vrankin,  whom  he  never  could  bring  him- 
self to  realise  was  his  mother.  But  he 
remembered  Ann's  warning  not  to  worry 
her  father  by  any  questions.  Toward 
sunset  Sir  William  called  him. 

"  Tell  John,"  he  said,  "  to  take  sides 
with  —  " 

But  whether  with  his  king  or  with 
the  Colonies  none  ever  knew,  for  he 
died  before  evening  with  the  sentence 
unfinished. 


Chapter   XVIII 

ANN  learned  first  of  her  father's  death 
through  the  newspaper.  Later,  she 
received  a  letter  from  John  giving  details 
of  the  sad  event  as  he  had  had  them  from 
Claus.  He  concluded  the  letter  with 
expressions  of  loyalty  to  the  king,  writ- 
ing with  bitterness  of  the  enemies  to  the 
Crown,  and  telling  her  of  a  reckless  plan 
he  had  in  mind  to  lead  the  Iroquois  up 
into  Canada  and  start  a  settlement  anew. 
He  did  not  mention  any  plan  that  Captain 
Claus  might  have.  Ann  waited  wistfully 
to  hear  from  her  lover.  Sometimes  she 
thought  he  never  could  have  received  her 
letter.  She  was  saddened,  but  did  not 
grieve  over  her  father's  death.  The  real 
pang  of  parting  from  him  had  been  when 
he  bade  her  farewell  for  the  last  time. 
She  felt  then  she  would  never  see  him 
again.  Her  sorrow  was  for  his  sake, 
281 


282  A  Georgian  Actress 

that  he  had  passed  away  in  such  a 
troubled  state  of  mind,  and  with  John 
absent. 

Never  had  she  been  more  conscientious 
in  her  work  than  now.  Since  the  renun- 
ciation of  her  own  desire  to  go  home,  she 
had  experienced  a  sense  of  strong  and 
lofty  purpose.  She  comprehended  now 
more  fully  what  the  devotion  to  a  cause 
rather  than  to  a  personal  motive  meant. 
Her  father's  anguish  at  the  rebellion  of 
his  country  against  his  king,  Garrick's 
life-giving  devotion  to  the  stage,  she 
understood  and  sympathised  with.  But 
her  own  heart  held  one  secret  cry,  that, 
whatever  happened,  she  might  see  Claus 
once  more. 

Lately,  too,  she  had  begun  to  feel  that 
her  sacrifice  to  Mr.  Garrick  had  not  been 
really  necessary  to  his  happiness,  for  he 
now  gave  all  his  attention  to  the  little 
orange-girl,  who  had  been  in  his  class  for 
children.  The  girl  was  already  old 
enough  to  take  minor  parts  on  the  stage. 
She  was  exceedingly  pretty  and  roguish. 
Her  mere  appearance,  however,  gave  small 


A  Georgian  Actress  283 

suggestion  of  the  undoubted  genius  that 
was  hers. 

"  Your  little  protegee  is  going  far  beyond 
me,"  said  Ann,  to  the  old  actor.  "  Soon 
I  must  needs  give  way  to  her." 

"  She  can  never  have  your  charm,"  he 
answered,  "  your  lovely  face  !  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "  she  has  far  more 
fire  and  force  than  I." 

"  She  can  never  be  as  genteel,"  he  pro- 
tested. 

Ann  made  him  a  curtsey.  "  Gentility 
without  the  ability,"  she  retorted,  merrily. 
"  As  they  used  to  say,  I  thank  you  on 
the  knees  of  my  heart."  And  putting  her 
hands  over  her  ears,  to  tease  the  old  man 
still  further  by  refusing  to  listen  to  his 
gallant,  fond  protest,  she  ran  out  of  the 
doorway.  Nevertheless,  each,  despite 
the  amiable  jesting,  was  conscious  that 
the  little  pleasantry  held  a  sting  of  truth. 

Some  nights  later,  the  Garricks  and  Ann 
attended  the  royal  drawing-room.  As 
usual,  they  had  music  first,  and  then  tea. 
Ann,  longing  to  be  alone,  stood  half  be- 
hind a  curtain,  listening  pensively  to  the 


284  A  Georgian  Actress 

music.  She  heard  snatches  of  conversa- 
tion near  by,  and  gathered  that  a  noted 
Indian  fighter  was  to  have  an  audience 
with  his  Majesty  at  nine  o'clock.  She 
experienced  a  renewed  interest  in  the 
evening,  and  wondered  if  the  stranger 
might  not,  in  all  probability,  be  able  to 
tell  her  of  her  father,  or,  perchance,  —  and 
her  colour  grew  bright  at  the  thought,  — 
she  might  lead  the  conversation,  with 
seeming  carelessness,  up  to  the  subject  of 
Captain  Claus. 

As  she  thus  mused  happily  on  an 
imaginary  conversation,  she  became  con- 
scious of  a  wave  of  excitement  and  expec- 
tancy in  the  room,  and  she,  too,  turned 
eagerly  to  catch  sight  of  the  American. 

A  young  man,  wearing  the  uniform  of 
a  captain,  was  making  his  way  through 
the  gay  court.  She  recognised  Mr.  Claus, 
his  head  held  high,  slightly  pale  beneath 
his  bronzed  skin.  She  saw  him  cast  a 
swift  and  eager  glance  about  him.  She 
could  not  know  the  pallor,  the  glance, 
were  for  her  sake.  He  felt,  without  being 
able  to  place  it,  her  presence. 


A  Georgian  Actress  285 

The  room  grew  dark  to  her  eyes ;  a 
thousand  murmurs  rang  in  her  ears.  She 
struggled  to  regain  her  self-control,  fearing 
she  might  faint.  After  a  little  she  grew 
calm,  and  was  able  to  watch  him.  He 
was  listening  to  George  III.,  who  appeared 
to  be  talking  with  some  excitement.  She 
saw  him  cast  a  swift  glance  to  his  right, 
although  his  head  was  attentively  bent. 
All  at  once  she  knew  that  he  had  come 
for  her,  and  now  looked  to  see  where  she 
might  be.  She  shrank  back  into  the 
heavy  folds  of  the  velvet  curtain.  Her 
heart  throbbed  with  a  strange  fear  such 
as  she  had  never  before  known.  She 
saw  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Garrick  across  the 
room,  and  tried  to  make  her  way  over  to 
them  without  being  observed. 

Her  progress  was  interrupted  by  a 
group  of  people,  and  as  she  stood  wait- 
ing they  suddenly  parted  to  enable  two 
gentlemen  to  pass  to  her.  The  two  were 
his  Majesty  and  Captain  Claus. 

"  This  gentleman  has  a  message  from 
your  father  for  you,"  said  George  III. 
She  was  a  favourite  with  the  kind  and 


a86  A  Georgian  Actress 

simple  monarch,  who  saw  in  her  not  only 
an  accomplished  actress  of  unimpeachable 
character,  but  also  the  daughter  of  one 
whom  he  felt  had  been  his  most  loyal 
subject  in  America  and  on  whom  he  had 
showered  numerous  gifts  and  favours. 
He  had  sent  a  message  of  condolence  to 
Sir  William's  daughter  on  hearing  of  her 
loss.  He  was  simple  and  devout  as  a 
country  parson,  and  his  religious  convic- 
tions were  firmly  rooted  in  his  nature. 
But  meeting  her  now  for  the  first  time 
since  her  father's  death,  he  was  embar- 
rassed, finding  it  difficult  to  express  his 
sympathy,  and  was  sorry  to  note  that  she 
was  white  as  if  she  had  been  ill. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  'twas  a  very 
sad  shock.  Well,  well,  well!"  He 
sighed  deeply,  coughed  slightly,  and 
moved  away. 

Ann  had  made  Mr.  Claus  a  deep 
curtsey  without  raising  her  eyes.  But 
now  she  ventured  to  look  at  him. 

"  Permit  me  to  trust  that  you  had  a 
pleasant  voyage,  sir,"  said  she,  flushing 
rosily. 


A  Georgian  Actress  287 

"  Voyage,"  he  said.  "  What  voyage  ? 
Oh,  yes,  of  course  !  Oh,  a  very  pleasant 
voyage,  madam."  Since  she  had  not 
answered  his  last  letter,  he  was  all  for 
doubting  her  love,  and  gazed  down  on 
her  anxiously. 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  a  most  magnificent 
figure,"  remarked  some  one,  in  an  audible 
aside. 

She  turned  and  saw  Mr.  Garrick,  who 
never  could  bear  to  be  on  the  outside 
of  anything,  and  who,  perceiving  that  the 
American  was  to  be  the  lion  of  the  even- 
ing, had  made  his  way  over  and  spoken 
thus  to  attract  attention. 

Ann  introduced  the  two  at  once. 

"  Do  tell  me,  Captain  Claus,"  said  Mr. 
Garrick,  twirling  his  pince-nez,  "  is  it  true 
that  you  Americans  scalp  each  other  in  an 
affair  of  honour  ?  " 

"  Sir !  "  cried  Mr.  Claus. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  the  actor,  airily, 
"I  don't  presume  to  say  so,  only,  you 
know,  people  will  say  such  things  nowa- 
days." 

"I  —  really,  I  have  never  looked  into 


288  A  Georgian  Actress 

the  matter,"  answered  Mr.  Claus,  in 
obvious  distress,  his  gaze  following  Ann, 
who  had  slipped  away  and  left  them 
talking. 

She  was  trembling  and  afraid  to  stay. 
She  had  her  chair  called,  and  went  home, 
leaving  word  for  Mrs.  Garrick  that  she 
was  suddenly  indisposed. 

Little  Mrs.  Garrick,  returning  late, 
came  tiptoeing  down  the  hall  to  knock  at 
her  door  and  to  inquire  how  she  was. 

"  I  was  very  tired,  but  I  feel  better  now," 
she  answered. 

"  Then  don't  get  up  to  let  me  in,"  spoke 
Mrs.  Garrick  through  the  keyhole.  "  I  am 
satisfied  to  know  you  rest  comfortably  ;  for 
there  are  times,  my  love,  when  you  look 
that  pale,  I  think  you  are  passing  into  a 
gentle  decay." 

"  Oh,  Lud,  ma'am,  I  hope  not,"  cried 
Ann,  with  pretended  spirit.  Long  after 
the  rest  of  the  household  slept,  she  lay 
sobbing  for  the  humiliation  that  filled  her 
as  she  recalled  how  she  had  acted  that 
evening.  Had  she  not  conducted  herself 
in  a  most  absurd  manner,  paling,  trembling, 


A  Georgian  Actress  289 

then  fleeing  ignominiously  away,  without  a 
word  or  an  invitation  to  call,  to  one  who  had 
the  right  to  expect  that  she  should  accord 
him  every  courtesy  ?  She  shed  tears  anew 
to  think  that,  in  all  probability,  it  was  he 
whom  Rosalie  had  told  her  had  called 
that  morning,  and  she  had  been  shopping. 
Then  she  became  angry  with  the  little 
servant.  Why  had  she  been  so  stupid 
as  not  to  tell  her  young  mistress  that  the 
stranger  looked  like  no  one  else  in  the 
world,  was  indeed  the  one  person  whose 
coming  was  longed  for  ?  Then  she  won- 
dered why  he  had  not  left  his  name  and  a 
message.  She  doubted  if  he  would  ever 
come  again,  and  was  filled  with  despair. 
Fresh  cause  for  alarm  awoke  in  the  fear 
that  she  had  betrayed  her  love  and  in- 
spired him  with  pity. 

"Alas  !  "  she  murmured,  "he  probably 
visits  me  with  lofty  disdain.  'Tis  most 
humiliating  to  a  woman  of  spirit.  I  trust 
that  he  will  come  to  see  me  that  I  may 
flout  him.  He  properly  deserves  it !  " 

She  waited  all  the  next  morning,  but  he 
did  not  come.  Then  she  did  not  think  it 


290  A  Georgian  Actress 

fitting  that  she  should  seem  to  wait  at 
home  for  him  any  longer,  so  she  decided 
to  go  over  to  the  park  which  was  near  by. 
She  took  her  dog  with  her,  and  flung 
around  her  shoulders  a  long  mantle  of 
cherry-coloured  velvet,  for  there  was  a 
touch  of  autumn  in  the  summer  air.  She 
left  word  with  Rosalie  that  Captain  Claus 
might  possibly,  but  only  very  possibly, 
come  across  her  in  the  park,  where  she  had 
gone  to  read  her  lines,  but  should  Mr. 
Dashwood  call  she  was  not  to  be  found. 

She  made  her  way  to  a  sequestered  little 
arbour,  so  shady  that  the  dew  of  morning 
still  sparkled  here  and  there.  She  had 
taken  with  her  the  play,  PHILASTER  ;  or, 
Love-Lies-a-Bleeding,  and  she  paced  up 
and  down,  her  eyes  attentive  upon  the 
pages  of  her  open  book,  reading  her  lines 
aloud  with  care.  Every  time  she  turned 
at  the  end  of  the  arbour  she  would  glance 
swiftly  up.  She  looked  to  sight  Mr. 
Claus  at  a  distance  off  through  the  trees, 
and  thus  be  allowed  a  moment's  time  in 
which  to  compose  herself  before  he  should 
reach  her. 


A  Georgian  Actress  291 

"  I  am  in  tune  to  hunt  (she  read  aloud), 
Diana,  if  thou  canst  rage  with  a  maid, 
As  with  a  man,  let  me  discover  thee, 
Bathing,  and  turn  me  to  a  fearful  hind, 
That  I  may  die  pursued  by  cruel  hounds, 
And  leave  my  story  —  " 

Here  she  turned.  At  the  end  of  the 
arbour  stood  Mr.  Claus. 

Alas  for  all  pretensions  !  farewell  to  all 
floutings  ! 

" '  And  leave  my  story  written  in  my 
wounds,' '  she  repeated,  mechanically, 
and  faltered,  blushed,  and  then  stood 
still. 

And  he,  made  all  daring  by  her  timid- 
ity, went  forward  and,  perceiving  how  she 
trembled,  seated  himself  on  the  rustic 
bench  and  drew  her  down  beside  him. 
Those  first  few  moments  were  too  filled 
with  longing,  with  turnings  to  the  past, 
to  be  joyous.  Their  very  caresses  were 
slight,  clinging  and  wistful.  He  could 
only  kiss  her  hand,  and  lay  it  against  his 
face.  And  she  crept  close  within  his  arm. 

"  To  think  of  the  years  that  have  passed 
since  I  last  saw  you,"  he  said, "  and  I  had 


292  A  Georgian  Actress 

hoped  to  follow  you  so  soon,  my  dearest." 
His  heart  contracted  with  pain  as  he 
looked  at  her.  She  was  so  very  delicate, 
so  appealing  in  her  fragility.  The  dis- 
ordered masses  of  her  black  hair  shaded 
her  lovely  face  as  she  rested  her  head  upon 
his  breast.  "  To  think  you  never  received 
my  letter,"  he  added,  musingly,  for  she 
had  told  him  of  her  wonder  at  not  hear- 
ing from  him. 

"  But  now  I  know,"  she  answered,  satis- 
fied, smiling.  These  moments  were  filled 
with  such  tremulous  happiness  !  She  had 
even  wept  a  little  on  his  shoulder. 

They  spoke  of  Madame  Van  Vrankin. 
Later,  when  the  trouble  with  the  Colonies 
was  settled,  Claus  would  take  steps  to 
have  his  father's  name  restored  to  him. 
They  were  both  conscious  that  there  was 
much  for  them  to  say  to  each  other,  many 
explanations  to  be  made.  But  now  they 
were  content  merely  to  be  together. 

Twilight  gathered  around  them.  She 
looked  up  at  him,  smiling  as  she  spoke 
of  her  terror  on  meeting  him  the  night 
before.  They  were  alone  together  as  he 


A  Georgian  Actress  293 

had  dreamed,  she  sweetly  smiling,  sweetly 
talking,  as  he  had  pictured  her.  Was  it 
the  dusk  that  gave  him  courage,  was  it  her 
lifted  eyes?  He  bent  and  gave  her  their 
first  kiss. 

"  What  shall  I  call  you,  sir  ?  "  asked 
she,  "  do  you  know  what  your  first  name 
rightfully  is?  It  would  not  be  wifely  that 
I  should  call  you  only  Captain  Van  Vran- 
kin  ! " 

"Your  father's  will  gave  my  name  in 
full,"  he  answered,  "  a  fine  Dutch  name, 
—  Peter  Stuyvesant  Van  Vrankin." 

"  Dear  Lud  !  "  cried  Ann,  aghast,  then 
hid  her  laughing,  blushing  face  upon  his 
sleeve.  "  Forgive  me  that  I  laugh,"  she 
murmured ;  "  my  pride  did  even  scruple 
to  have  my  lover's  name  Daniel,  but  now 
indeed  am  I  properly  punished,  for  it 
turns  out  to  be  Peter." 

He  caught  her  and  kissed  her  warmly. 
"  You  are  a  witch,  I  swear,  Ann  !  " 

Her  arms  went  tight  around  him.  "  Oh, 
why  did  you  not  come  before,  sir  ?  I  have 
been  so  lonely,"  she  cried,  and  fell  to 
sobbing. 


294  A  Georgian  Actress 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dearest,"  he  begged, 
"  I  will  never  leave  you  again." 

The  park  had  grown  dark  and  still. 
Her  dog  came  back,  and  rubbed  its  cold 
nose  against  her  hand,  and  whined  for 
attention,  and  not  receiving  it,  lay  down 
at  their  feet  on  the  edge  of  her  gown. 

"  Sir,"  said  Ann,  solemnly,  holding  his 
hand  tightly,  "did  you  ever  feel  that 
sometimes  those  that  we  love,  but  who  are 
dead,  are  near  us  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  felt  that,"  he  answered, 
"  but  I  know  what  you  mean.  Often, 
these  years,  when  I  have  been  so  far  from 
you,  I  have  thought  and  thought  of  you 
until  I  seemed  to  have  drawn  your  spirit 
to  me." 

She  nodded.  "  Sir,"  she  whispered,  "  I 
feel  as  if  Madame,  your  mother,  were 
near  us,  and  my  father,  too,  and  that  they 
see  and  bless  us." 

A  tremor  passed  over  him.  He  drew 
her  closer. 

The  rising  wind  of  night  rustled  in 
the  trees. 

"  Hush,"   said  Ann,  fancifully,  "  it  is 


A  Georgian  Actress  295 

the  spirit  of  old  Naukoska  whisper- 
ing." 

"  My  darling,"  he  cried,  "  you  must 
not  talk  so.  You  fill  me  with  terror. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  but  dream  that  you 
are  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood.  Come, 
it  is  late.  I'll  not  take  you  home  yet,  but 
to  a  quiet  inn  where  we  shall  break  bread 
together.  I  fear  we  have  lingered  too 
long  in  this  damp  place." 

He  felt  for  her  book,  which  had  dropped 
on  the  grass,  and  found  it  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket.  He  wrapped  her  cloak  around 
her  and  tied  the  ribbons  of  her  bonnet 
under  her  chin.  He  could  scarcely  see 
her  pale  little  face  in  the  dimness. 

"  Dear  one,"  he  said,  jestingly,  "  are 
you  properly  humbled  by  love?  Will 
you  knit  a  pair  of  good  woollen  stock- 
ings for  your  Albany  Dutchman  ?  " 

"  But  mine  must  always  be  of  silk," 
she  said. 

They  made  their  way  out  of  the  park, 
the  dog  eager  to  go,  running  ahead  and 
then  returning  to  leap  upon  them.  As 
they  closed  the  gate,  Ann  took  her  com- 


296  A  Georgian  Actress 

panion's  arm,  then  turned  and  waved  her 
handkerchief. 

"  Farewell,  dear  park,"  she  cried,  "  fare- 
well. May  your  arbours  be  kind  to 
many  lovers ! " 


THE    END. 


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fail  to  command  an  immense  reading  public. 

A  Georgian  ActreSS.  By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
Author  of  "  Mademoiselle    de    Beray,"  "  Ye    Lyttle    Salem 

Maide,"  etc. 
With  four  full-page  illustrations  from  drawings  by  E.  W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  300  pages      .        $1.50 

An  interesting  romance  of  the  days  of  George  III.,  dealing  with 
the  life  and  adventures  of  a  fair  and  talented  young  play-actress, 
the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in  England  and  America.  The  success  of 
Miss  Mackie's  previous  books  will  justify  our  prediction  that  a  new 
volume  will  receive  an  instant  welcome. 

God — The  King — fly  Brother.    A  ROMANCE. 

By  MARY  F.  NIXON. 
Author  of  "  With  a  Pessimist  in  Spain,"  "  A  Harp  of  Many 

Chords,"  etc. 

With  a  frontispiece  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
Library  121110,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .        .        $1.25 

An  historical  tale,  dealing  with  the  romantic  period  of  Edward 
the  Black  Prince.  The  scene  is  laid  for  the  most  part  in  the 
sunny  land  of  Spain,  during  the  reign  of  Pedro  the  Cruel  — 
the  ally  in  war  of  the  Black  Prince.  The  well-told  story  records 
the  adventures  of  two  young  English  knight-errants,  twin  brothers, 
whose  family  motto  gives  the  title  to  the  book.  The  Spanish  maid, 
the  heroine  of  the  romance,  is  a  delightful  characterization,  and  the 
love  story,  with  its  surprising  yet  logical  denouement,  is  enthralling. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND   COMPANY  S 


Punchinello.      By  FLORENCE  STUART. 

Library  121x10,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  325  pages      .        $1.50 

A  love  story  of  intense  power  and  pathos.  The  hero  is  a  hunch- 
back (Punchinello),  who  wins  the  love  of  a  beautiful  young  girl. 
Her  sudden  death,  due  indirectly  to  his  jealousy,  and  the  discovery 
that  she  had  never  faltered  in  her  love  for  him,  combine  to  unbalance 
his  mind.  The  poetic  style  relieves  the  sadness  of  the  story,  and 
the  reader  is  impressed  with  the  power  and  brilliancy  of  its  concep- 
tion, as  well  as  with  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  execution. 

The    Golden    Fleece.     Translated  from  the  French  of 
Amedee  Achard,  author   of   "The   Huguenot's  Love,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  450  pages  .        $1.50 

Ame'dee  Achard  was  a  contemporary  writer  of  Dumas,  and  his 
romances  are  very  similar  to  those  of  that  great  writer.  "  The 
Golden  Fleece  "  compares  favorably  with  "  The  Three  Musketeers  " 
and  the  other  D'Artagnan  romances.  The  story  relates  the  adven- 
tures of  a  young  Gascon  gentleman,  an  officer  in  the  army  sent  by 
Louis  XIV.  to  assist  the  Austrians  in  repelling  the  Turkish  Invasion 
under  the  celebrated  Achmet  Kiuperli. 

The    Good    Ship    York.      By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL. 
Author  of  "  The  Wreck  of  the  Grosvenor?  "  A  Sailor's  Sweet- 
heart," etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages          $1-50 

A  romantic  and  exciting  sea  tale,  equal  to  the  best  work  of  this 
famous  writer,  relating  the  momentous  voyage  of  the  clipper  ship 
York,  and  the  adventures  that  befell  Julia  Armstrong,  a  passenger, 
and  George  Hardy,  the  chief  mate. 

"  Mr.  Russell  has  no  rival  in  the  line  of  marine  fiction."  —  Mail  and  Express. 

Tottl    Ossington'S    GhOSt.       By  RICHARD  MARSH. 
Author  of  "  Frivolities,"  "  Ada  Vernham,  Actress,"  etc.     Illus" 

trated  by  Harold  Pifford. 
Library  121110,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  325  pages      .         $1.50 

"  I  read  '  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost '  the  other  night,  and  was  afraid  to  go  mp-stairs 
in  the  dark  after  it."  —  Truth. 

"An  entrancing  book,  but  people  with  weak  nerves  had  better  not  read  it  at 
night."  —  To-day. 

"  Mr.  Marsh  has  been  inspired  by  an  entirely  original  idea,  and  has  worked  it  put 
with  great  ingenuity.  We  like  the  weird  but  net  repulsive  story  better  than  anything 
ke  kas  ever  done."  —  W»rld. 


LIST    OF   N1W    PICTION 


The  Glory  and  Sorrow  of  Norwich.     By 

M.  M.  BLAKE. 
Author  of  "The   Blues   and  the   Brigands,"  etc.,  etc.,   with 

twelve  full-page  illustrations. 
Library  tamo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  315  pages      .        $1.50 

The  hero  of  this  romance,  Sir  John  de  Reppes,  is  an  actual 
personage,  and  throughout  the  characters  and  incidents  are  instinct 
with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  as  related  in  the  chronicles  of  Froissart. 
Its  main  claim  for  attention,  however,  is  in  the  graphic  representa- 
tion of  the  age  of  chivalry  which  it  gives,  forming  a  series  of  brilliant 
and  fascinating  pictures  of  mediaeval  England,  its  habits  of  thought 
and  manner  of  life,  which  live  in  the  mind  for  many  a  day  after 
perusal,  and  assist  to  a  clearer  conception  of  what  is  one  of  the  moat 
charming  and  picturesque  epochs  of  history. 

The  flistress  of  flaidenwood.    By  HULI«*T 

FULLER. 

Author  of  "  Vivian  of  Virginia,"  "  God's  Rebel,"  etc. 
Library  1  2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .         .         $1.5* 
A  stirring  historical  romance  of  the  American  Revolution,  the 
scene  of  which  for  the  most  part  being  laid  in  and  about  th«  debatable 
ground  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York  City. 


A  TALE  OF  A  LOST  CAUSE.  By  CAPTAIN  EWAN 
MARTIN. 

Author  of  "  The  Knight  of  King's  Guard." 
Library  lamo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages,  illustrated  .        $1.50 

A  stirring  romance  of  the  day«  of  Charles  I.  and  Cromwell  in 
England  and  Ireland.  In  it*  general  character  the  book  invites 
comparison  with  Scott's  "  Waverley."  It  well  sustains  the  reputa- 
tion gained  by  Captain  Martin  from  "  The  Knight  of  King's  Guard." 

The    Flame   Of    Life.       (It  Fuoco.)     Translated  from 

the  Italian  of  Gabriel  D'  Annuniio,  author  of  "  Triumph  of 

Death,"  etc.,   by   KASSANDRA    VIVARIA,  author  of    "Via 

Lucis." 

Library  izmo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .        .        .        fi-5« 

This  is  the  first  volume  in  the  Third  Trilogy,  "Th«  Romances 
of  the  Pomegranate,"  of  th«  three  announced  by  the  great  Italian 
writer.  We  were  fortunate  in  securing  the  book,  and  also  in  securing 
the  services  as  translator  of  the  talented  author  of  "Via  Lucia," 
herself  an  Italian  by  birth. 


Selections  from 

L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 

List  of  Fiction. 

An  Enemy  to  the  King.     (Thirtieth  Thousand.) 

FROM  THE  RECENTLY  DISCOVERED  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 
SlEUR  DE  LA  TOURNOIRE.  By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STE- 
PHENS. 

Illustrated  by  H.fDe  M.  Young. 

Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  460  pages     .        1 1.50 

"  Brilliant  as  a  play  ;  it  is  equally  brilliant  as  a  romantic  novel."  —  Philadelphia 
Prut. 

"  Those  who  love  chivalry,  fighting,  and  intrigue  will  find  it,  and  of  good  quality, 
in  this  book."  —  New  York  Critic. 

The  Continental  Dragoon.  (Eighteenth  Thousand.) 

A  ROMANCE  OF  PHILIPSE  MANOR   HOUSE,  IN  1778.    By 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS. 
Author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King." 
Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .        .        $1.50 

"It  has  the  sterling  qualities  of  strong  dramatic  writing,  and  ranks  among  the 
most  spirited  and  ably  written  historical  romances  of  the  season.  An  impulsive  ap- 
preciation of  a  soldier  who  is  a  soldier,  a  man  who  is  a  man,  a  hero  who  is  a  hero,  is 
one  of  the  most  captivating  of  Mr.  Stephens's  charms  of  manner  and  style."  — 
Boston  Herald. 

The  Road  tO  Paris.  (Sixteenth  Thousand.)  By  ROBERT 
NEILSON  STEPHENS. 

Author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dra- 
goon," etc. 

Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .        .        .        $i-5c 

"  Vivid  and  picturesque  in  style,  well  conceived  and  full  of  action,  the  novel  is 
absorbing  from  cover  to  cover."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Lidftr. 

*  In  the  line  of  historical  romance,  few  books  of  the  season  will  equal  Robert 
Ntilson  Stephens's  '  The  Road  to  Paris.' "  —  Cincinnati  Tim*t-Stmr. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


A  Gentleman  Player.   (Thirty-fifth  Thousand.)  HIS 

ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 

BETH.   By  ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS. 
Author  of  "  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  The  Continental  Dra- 

goon," "  The  Road  to  Paris,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  450  pages  .         .        .        $1.50 

"A  thrilling  historical  romance.  ...  It  is  a  well-told  tale  of  mingled  romance 
and  history,  and  the  reader  throughout  unconsciously  joins  in  the  flight  and  thrills 
with  the  excitement  of  the  dangers  and  adventures  that  befall  the  fugitives."  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  '  A  Gentleman  Player  '  is  well  conceived  and  well  told."  —  Boston  Journal. 


a    Charlltte.      (Eighth  Thousand.)     AN  ACADIEN 
ROMANCE.    By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS.  • 

Author  of  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .  .  .  $1-50 

*A  very  fine  novel  we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  it  ;  .  .  one  of  the  books  that 
stamp  themselves  at  once  upon  the  imagination  and  remain  imbedded  in  the  memory 
long  after  the  covers  are  closed."  —  Literary  World,  Boston. 


Deficient  SaintS.     A  TALE  OF  MAINE.    By  MARSHALL 

SAUNDERS. 

Author  of  "  Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"^etc. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages  .         .        .        £1.50 

"  The  tale  is  altogether  delightful ;  it  is  vitally  charming  and  exproMM  a  quiet 
power  that  sparkles  with  all  sort*  of  versatile  beauty."  —  Botton  Idtai: 


Her  Sailor.     A  NOVEL.    By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS. 
Author  of  "  Rose  a  Charlitte,"  "  Beautiful  Joe,"  etc. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  325  pages         $*-2S 

A  story  of  modern  life  of  great  charm  and  pathos,  dealing  with 
the  love  affairs  of  an  American  girl  and  a  naval  officer. 

"A  love  story,  refreshing  and  sweet." —  Utita  Herald. 

"  The  wayward  petulance  of  the  maiden,  who  half-resents  the  matter-of-course 
wooing  and  wedding,  her  graceful  coquetry,  and  final  capitulation  are  prettily  told, 
making  a  fine  character  sketch  and  an  entertaining  story."  —  Bookseller,  Chicago. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


Pretty  MlChal.  A  ROMANCE  OF  HUNGARY.  By  MAURUS 
JOKAI. 

Author  of  "  Black  Diamonds,"  "  The  Green  Book,"  "  Midst  the 
Wild  Carpathians,"  etc. 

Authorized  translation  by  R.  Nisbet  Bain. 

Illustrated  with  a  photogravure  frontispiece  of  the  great  Mag- 
yar writer. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages  .        .        .        $1.50 

"  It  is  at  once  a  spirited  tale  of  '  border  chivalry,'  a  charming  love  story  full  of 
genuine  poetry,  and  a  graphic  picture  of  life  in  a  country  and  at  a  period  both  equally 
new  to  Knglish  readers."  —  Literary  World,  London. 

Midst  the  Wild  Carpathians.    By  MAURUS 

JOKAI. 

Author  of  "  Black  Diamonds,"  "  The  Lion  of  Janina,"  etc. 
Authorized  translation  by  R.  Nisbet  Bain. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .         .        $1.25 

"The  story  is  absorbingly  interesting  and  displays  all  the  virility  of  Jokai's 
powers,  his  genius  of  description,  his  keenness  of  characterization,  his  subtlety  of 
humor,  and  his  consummate  art  in  the  progression  of  the  novel  from  one  apparent 
climax  to  another." —  Chicago  Evening  Pott. 

In    Kings'     HoUSeS.      A  ROMANCE  OP  THE  REIGN  OF 

QUEEN  ANNE.    By  JULIA  C.  R.  DORR. 
Author  of  "  A  Cathedral  Pilgrimage,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 
Library  lamo,  cloth  decorative,  400  pages  .        .        .        $1.50 

"  We  close  the  book  with  a  wish  that  the  author  may  write  more  romances  of  the 
history  of  England  which  she  knows  so  well."  —  Bookman,  AVtv  York. 

"A  fine  strong  story  which  is  a  relief  to  come  upon.  Related  with  charming, 
simple  art."  —  Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 

Omar  the  Tentmaker.    A  ROMANCE  or  OLD 

PERSIA.    By  NATHAN  HASKKLL  DOLE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .        .        .        $1.50 

"The  story  itself  is  beautiful  and  it  is  beautifully  written.  It  possesses  the  true 
spirit  of  romance,  and  is  almost  poetical  in  form.  The  author  has  undoubtedly  been 
inspired  by  his  admiration  for  the  Rubaiyat  of  Omar  Khayyam  t»  writ*  this  story  of 
which  Omar  is  the  hero." —  Trey  Timet. 

"  Mr.  Dole  has  built  a  delightful  romance.''  —  Ckitmgt  Ckremielt. 

"  It  is  a  strong  and  riridly  written  story,  full  of  the  lift  and  spirit  of 
ffew  OrUfttf  Picayune. 


L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 


A  TALE  OF  PARIS.    By  ELWYN  BARRON. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages         #1.50 

"  Bright  descriptions  of  student  life  in  Paris,  sympathetic  views  of  human  frailty, 
and  a  dash  of  dramatic  force,  combine  to  form  an  attractive  story.  The  book  contains 
some  very  strong  scenes,  plenty  of  life  and  color,  and  a  pleasant  tinge  of  humor. 
...  It  has  grip,  picturesqueness,  and  vivacity." —  TJie  Speaker,  London. 

"A  study  of  deep  human  interest,  in  which  pathos  and  humor  both  play  their 
parts.  The  descriptions  of  life  in  the  Quartier  Latin  are  distinguished  for  their 
freshness  and  liveliness."  —  St.  James  Gazette,  Londtn. 

"  A  romance  sweet  as  violets."  —  Town  Topics,  New  York. 


In    Old    New   York.     A  ROMANCE.    By  WILSON  BAR- 
RETT, author  of  "  The  Sign  of  the  Cross,"  etc.,  and  ELWYN 
BARRON,  author  of  "  Manders." 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  350  pages        $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  great  interest  and  vigor."  —  Philadelphia  Inquirer. 

"  '  In  Old  New  York '  is  worthy  of  its  distinguished  authors."  —  Chicago  Timts- 
Herald. 

"Intensely  interesting.  It  has  an  historical  flavor  that  gives  it  a  substantial  value." 
—  Boston  Globe. 


The    Golden    Dog.      A    ROMANCE   OF    QUEBEC.     By 

WILLIAM  KIRBY. 
New  authorized  edition. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  620  pages  .         .        .        #1.25 

"  A  powerful  romance  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure  in  the  time  of  Louis  XV. 
and  Mme.  de  Pompadour,  when  the  French  colonies  were  making  their  great 
struggle  to  retain  for  an  ungrateful  court  the  fairest  jewels  in  the  colonial  diadem  of 
France."  —  New  York  Herald. 


The  Knight  of  King's  Guard.  A  ROMANCE  OF 

THE   DAYS   OF  THE    BLACK    PRINCE.      By   EWAN   MARTIN. 

Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .         .        $1.50 

An  exceedingly  well  written  romance,  dealing  with  the  romantic 
period  chronicled  so  admirably  by  Froissart.  The  scene  is  laid  at  a 
border  castle  between  England  and  Scotland,  the  city  of  London, 
and  on  the  French  battle-fields  of  Cressy  and  Poitiers.  Edward  the 
Third,  Queen  Philippa,  the  Black  Prince,  Bertrand  du  Guesclin,  are 
all  historical  characters,  accurate  reproductions  of  which  give  life 
and  vitality  to  the  romance.  The  character  of  the  hero  is  especially 
well  drawn. 


LIST   OF   FICTION 


The  Making  of  a  Saint.    By  w.  SOMERSET 

MAUGHAM. 

Illustrated  by  Gilbert  James. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .        .        .         $1.50 

"  An  exceedingly  strong  story  of  original  motive  and  design.  .  .  .  The  scenes  are 
imbued  with  a  spirit  of  frankness .  .  .  and  in  addition  there  is  a  strong  dramatic 
flavor."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  A  sprightly  tale  abounding  in  adventures,  and  redolent  of  the  spirit  of  mediaeval 
Italy."  —  Brooklyn  Times. 


Friendship  and   Folly.     A  NOVEL.   By  MARIA 

LOUISE  POOL. 

Author  of  "  Dally,"  "  A  Redbridge  Neighborhood,"  "  In  a  Dike 

Shanty,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .        .        $1-25 

"The  author  handles  her  elements  with  skilful  fingers — fingers  that  feel  their 
way  most  truthfully  among  the  actual  emotions  and  occurrences  of  nineteenth 
century  romance.  Hers  is  a  frank,  sensitive  touch,  and  the  result  is  both  complete 
and  full  of  interest."  —  Boston  Ideas. 

"The  story  will  rank  with  the  best  previous  work  of  this  author." — Indianapolis 
News. 


The  Rejuvenation  of  Miss  Semaphore. 

A  FARCICAL  NOVEL.    By  HAL  GODFREY. 
Illustrated  by  Etheldred  B.  Barry. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .        .        #1.25 

*  A  fanciful,  laughable  tale  of  two  maiden  sisters  of  uncertain  age  who  are  induced, 
by  their  natural  longing  for  a  return  to  youth  and  its  blessings,  to  pay  a  large  sum 
for  a  mystical  water  which  possesses  the  value  of  setting  backwards  the  hands  of 
time.  No  more  delightfully  fresh  and  original  book  has  appeared  since  '  Vice 
Versa'  charmed  an  amused  world.  It  is  well  written,  drawn  to  the  life,  and  full  of 
the  most  enjoyable  humor."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


The  Paths  Of  the  Prudent.     By  J.  S.  FLETCHER. 
Author  of  "  When  Charles  I.  Was  King,"  "  Mistress  Spitfire,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .         .        .        f  1*50 

"  The  story  has  a  curious  fascination  for  the  reader,  aad  the  theme  and  character* 
are  handled  with  rare  ability."  —  Scotsman. 

"  Dorinthia  is  charming.  The  story  is  told  with  gr«at  humor."  —  Pall  Uall 
Gazette. 

"  An  excellently  well  told  story,  and  the  reader's  interest  is  perfectly  sustained  to 
th«  very  end."  —  Pttnck. 


L.   C.    PAGE   AND   COMPANY  S 


CrOSS  Trails.     By  VICTOR  WAITE. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  izmo,  cloth  decorative,  450  pages  .         .         .        |i-5o 

"  A  Spanish- American  novel  of  unusual  interest,  a  brilliant,  dashing,  a»d  stirring 
story,  teeming  with  humanity  and  life.  Mr.  Waite  is  to  be  congratulated  upom  the 
strength  with  which  he  has  drawn  his  characters."  —  Sax  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Every  page  is  enthralling."  —  Academy. 

"  Full  of  strength  and  reality."  —  A  thenteu-m. 

"The  book  is  exceedingly  powerful."  —  Glasgow  Herald. 


BijH   the    Dancer.    By  JAMES  BLYTHK  PATTOW. 
Illustrated  by  Horace  Van  Rinth. 
Library  1 21110,  cloth  decorative,  350  pages  .         .        .        $1.50 

"  A  novel  of  Modern  India.  .  .  .  The  fortunes  of  the  heroine,  an  India*  nautch- 
girl,  are  told  with  a  vigor,  pathos,  and  a  wealth  of  poetic  sympathy  that  makes  the 
book  admirable  from  first  to  last."  —  Detroit  Free  Press. 

"A  remarkable  book."  —  Bookman. 

"  Powerful  and  fascinating."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"A  vivid  picture  of  Indian  life." — Academy,  London. 


Drives   and    Puts.      A  BOOK  OF  GOLF  STORIBS.     By 

WALTER  CAMP  and  LILIAN  BROOKS. 
Small  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  250  pages    .        $1.25 

"It  will  be  heartily  relished  by  all  readers,  whether  golfers  or  not."  —  Boston 
Ideas. 

"  Decidedly  the  best  golf  stories  I  have  read." —  Milwaukee  Journal. 

"  Thoroughly  entertaining  and  interesting  in  every  page,  and  is  gotten  out  with 
care  and  judgment  that  indicate  rare  taste  in  bookmaking."  —  Chicago  Saturday 
Evening  Herald. 


Via   LtlCis.      By  KASSANDRA  VIVARIA. 
With  portrait  of  the  author. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  480  pages  .        .        .        #1.50 

"'Via  Lucis'is  —  we  say  it  unhesitatingly — a  striking  and  interesting  produc- 
tion." —  London  A  thenceum. 

"  Without  doubt  the  most  notable  novel  of  the  summer  is  this  strong  story  of 
Italian  life,  so  full  of  local  color  one  can  almost  see  the  cool,  shaded  patios  and  the 
flame  of  the  pomegranate  blossom,  and  smell  the  perfume  of  the  grapes  growing  on 
the  hillsides.  It  is  a  story  of  deep  and  passionate  heart  interests,  of  fierce  love*  and 
fiercer  hates,  of  undisciplined  natures  that  work  out  their  own  bitter  destiny  of  woe. 
There  has  hardly  been  a  finer  piece  of  portraiture  than  that  of  the  child  Arduina,  — 
the  child  of  a  sickly  and  unloved  mother  and  a  cruel  and  vindictive  father,  — a  mor- 
bid, queer,  lonely  little  creature,  who  is  left  to  grow  up  without  love  or  training  of 
any  kind."  —  New  Orleans  Picayune. 


LIST   OF    FICTION 


*'  To  Arms  !  "  BEING  SOME  PASSAGES  FROM  THE  EARLY 
LIFE  OF  ALLAN  OLIPHANT,  CHIRURGEON,  WRITTEN  BY 
HIMSELF,  AND  NOW  SET  FORTH  FOR  THE  FIRST  TIME. 
By  ANDREW  BALPOUR. 

Illustrated  by  F.  W.  Glover. 

Library  12010,  cloth  decorative,  575  pages  .        .        .        $1-50 

"  A  tale  of  '  Bonnie  Tweedside,'  and  St.  Dynans  and  Auld  Reekie,  —  a  fair  picture 
of  thejcountry  under  misrule  and  usurpation  and  all  kinds  of  vicissitude*.  Allan  Oli- 
phant  is  a  great  hero."  —  Chicago  Ttmtt-tferald. 

"A  recital  of  thrilling  interest,  told  with  unflagging  vigor."  —  Globe. 

"  An  unusually  excellent  example  of  a  semi-historic  romance." —  IPtrU. 

The  River  Of  Pearls;  OR,  THE  RED  SPIDER.  A 
CHINESE  ROMANCE.  By  RENE  DE  PONT- JEST. 

With  sixty  illustrations  from  original  drawings  by  Felix  R6- 
gamey. 

Library  i amo,  cloth  decorative,  300  pages  .        .        .        $1.50 

Close  acquaintance  with  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Chinese 
has  enabled  the  author  to  write  a  story  which  is  instructive  as  well 
as  interesting.  The  book,  as  a  whole,  shows  the  writer  to  be  pos- 
sessed of  a  strong  descriptive  faculty,  as  well  as  keen  insight  into 
the  characters  of  the  people  of  whom  he  is  writing.  The  plot  is 
cleverly  conceived  and  well  worked  out,  and  the  story  abounds  with 
incidents  of  the  most  exciting  and  sensational  character.  Enjoy- 
ment of  its  perusal  is  increased  by  the  powerful  illustrations  of  Felix 
Re"gamey. 

The  book  may  be  read  with  profit  by  any  one  who  wishes  to 
realize  the  actual  condition  of  native  life  in  China. 


Lally  Of  the  Brigade.  A  ROMANCE  OF  THE  IRISH 
BRIGADE  IN  FRANCE  DURING  THE  TIME  OF  Louis  THE 
FOURTEENTH.  By  L.  MCMANUS. 

Author  of   "The  Silk  of  the  Kime,"  "The  Red  Star,"  etc 

Illustrated. 

Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  250  pages  .        .        .        |i.a$ 

The  scene  of  this  romance  is  partly  at  the  siege  of  Crimona  (held 
by  the  troops  of  Louis  XIV.)  by  the  Austrian  forces  under  Prince 
Eugene.  During  the  siege  the  famous  Irish  Brigade  renders  valiant 
service,  and  the  hero  —  a  dashing  young  Irishman  — is  in  the  thick 
of  the  fighting.  He  is  also  able  to  give  efficient  service  in  unravel- 
ling a  political  intrigue,  in  which  the  love  affairs  of  the  hero  and  the 
heroine  are  interwoven. 


8  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY'S 

Frivolities.     ESPECIALLY  ADDRESSED  TO  THOSE  WHO  ARE 

TIRED  OF  BEING  SERIOUS.     By  RICHARD  MARSH. 
Author  of  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  340  pages  .         .        .        $1.50 

A  dozen  stories  in  an  entirely  new  vein  for  Mr.  Marsh.  The 
humor  is  irresistible,  and  carries  the  reader  on  breathlessly  from  one 
laugh  to  another.  The  style,  though  appealing  to  a  totally  different 
side  of  complex  human  nature,  is  as  strong  and  effective  as  the 
author's  intense  and  dramatic  work  in  "  Tom  Ossington's  Ghost." 


Sons   Of  AdvefSity.      A  ROMANCE  OF  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH'S TIME.     By  L.  COPE  CORNFORD. 
Author  of  "  Captain  Jacobus,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  325  pages   .         .         .        $1.25 

"  A  tale  of  adventure  on  land  and  sea  at  the  time  when  Protestant  England  and 
Catholic  Spain  were  struggling  for  naval  supremacy.  Spanish  conspiracies  against 
the  peace  of  good  Queen  Bess,  a  vivid  description  of  the  raise  of  the  Spanish  siege  of 
Leyden  by  the  combined  Dutch  and  English  forces,  sea  fights,  the  recovery  of  stolen 
treasure,  are  all  skilfully  woven  elements  in  a  plot  of  unusual  strength."  —  Pittsburg 
Bulletin. 

The  COUnt  Of  NidCCk.  FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN,  TRANSLATED  AND  ADAPTED  BY 
RALPH  BROWNING  FISKE. 

Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 

Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  375  pages  .         .         .        $1.25 

'"The  Count  of  Nideck,'  adapted  from  the  French  of  Erckrnamm-Chatrian  by 
Ralph  Browning  Fiske,  is  a  most  interesting  tale,  simply  told,  and  moving  with 
direct  force  to  the  end  in  view."  —  Minneapolis  Times. 

"  Rapid  in  movement,  it  abounds  in  dramatic  incident,  furnishes  graphic  descrip- 
tions of  the  locality,  and  is  enlivened  with  a  very  pretty  love  •tory."  —  Troy  Budget. 


Mtlt*iel la  ;    OR,  LE  SELVE.     By  OUIDA. 
Illustrated  by  M.  B.  Prendergast. 
Library  1 2mo,  cloth  decorative,  250  pages  .         .         .        $i.*5 

"Ouida's  literary  style  is  almost  perfect  in  '  Muriella.' "  —  Chicago  Times- 
Htrcdd. 

"'Muriella'  is  an  admirable  example  of  the  author's  be»t  work."  —  Brooklyn 
Times. 

"  It  dwells  in  the  memory,  and  bears  the  dramatic  force,  tragic  interest,  and 
skilfulness  of  treatment  that  mark  the  work  of  Oukla  when  at  ker  beat."  —  Pittskm-r 
Bulletin. 


LIST    OF    FICTION 


The  Archbishop's  Unguarded  Moment. 

By  OSCAR  FAY  ADAMS. 
Library  12010,  cloth  decorative,  illustrated,  300  pages        $1.25 

"  A  very  captivating  volume."  —  Evening  Wisconsin. 
"  Brimming  over  with  humor."  —  Chicago  Ckroniclt, 

"  He  who  cares  to  pass  a  few  hours  in  quiet  enjoyment  and  subdued  laughter  will 
do  well  to  become  the  possessor  of  this  clever  volume."  —  American,  Philadelphia. 

The   Works  of  Gabriel  d'Annunzio. 

The  Triumph  of  Death. 
The  Intruder. 
The  Maidens  of  the  Rocks. 
The  Child  of  Pleasure. 

Each,  i  vol.,  library  12  mo,  cloth  decorative         .        .        $1.50 

"The  writer  of  the  greatest  promise  to-day  in  Italy,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
unique  figures  in  contemporary  literature,  is  Gabriel  d'Annunzio,  the  poet-novelist." 
—  The  Bookman. 

"  This  book  is  realistic.  Some  say  that  it  is  brutally  so.  But  the  realism  is  that 
of  Flaubert  and  not  of  Zola.  There  is  no  plain  speaking  for  the  sake  of  plain  speak- 
ing. Every  detail  is  justified  in  the  fact  that  it  illuminates  either  the  motives  or  the 
actions  of  the  man  and  woman  who  here  stand  revealed.  It  is  deadly  true.  The 
author  holds  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  and  the  reader,  as  he  sees  his  own  experiences 
duplicated  in  passage  after  passage,  has  something  of  the  same  sensation  as  all  of  us 
know  on  the  first  reading  of  George  Meredith's  Egoist.'  Reading  these  pages  is 
like  being  out  in  the  country  on  a  dark  night  in  a  storm.  Suddenly  a  flash  of  light- 
ning comes  and  every  detail  of  your  surroundings  is  revealed."  —  Review  of  the 
Triumph  of  Death,  in  the  New  York  Evening  Sun. 

Ye  Lyttle  Salem  Maide.   A  STORY  OF  WITCH 

CRAFT.    By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
With  four  full-page  photogravures  from  drawings  by  E.  W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Printed  on   deckle-edged  paper,  with  gilt  top,  and  bound  in 

cloth  decorative,  321  pages $1-50 

A  tale  of  the  days  of  the  reign  of  superstition  in  New  England, 
and  of  a  brave  "  lyttle  maide  "  of  Salem  Town,  whose  faith  and 
hope  and  unyielding  adherence  to  her  word  of  honor  form  the  basis 
of  a  most  attractive  story.  Several  historical  characters  are  intro- 
duced, including  the  Rev.  Cotton  Mather  and  Governor  and  Lady 
Phipps,  and  a  very  convincing  picture  is  drawn  of  Puritan  life  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century.  An  especial  interest  is 
added  to  the  book  by  the  illustrations,  reproduced  by  the  photo- 
gravure process  from  originals  by  E.  W.  D.  Hamilton. 


IO  L.    C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 

Mademoiselle  de  Berny.    A  STORY  OF  VALLEY 

FORGE.    By  PAULINE  BRADFORD  MACKIE. 
With  five  full-page  photogravures  from  drawings  by  Frank  T. 

Merrill. 
Printed  on  deckle-edged  paper,  with  gilt  top,  and  bound   in 

cloth  decorative,  272  pages $i-S° 

"  The  charm  of  '  Mademoiselle  de  Berny '  lies  in  its  singular  sweetness."  —  Boston 
Herald. 

"  One  of  the  very  few  choice  American  historical  stories."  — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Real  romance  .  .  .  admirably  written." — Washington  Post. 

"  A  stirring  romance,  full  of  life  and  action  from  start  to  finish."  —  Toledo  Daily 
Blade. 

"  Of  the  many  romances  in  which  Washington  is  made  to  figure,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  fascinating,  one  of  the  best."  —  Boston  Courier. 

FraCaSSe.      TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 
OF  GAUTIER.    By  ELLEN  MURRAY  BEAM. 
Illustrated  by  Victor  A.  Searles. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth  decorative,  575  pages  .        .        .        #1.25 

"  The  story  is  one  of  the  best  in  romantic  fiction,  for  upon  it  Gautier  lavished  his 
rare  knowledge  of  the  twelfth  century.  —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  One  of  those  rare  stories  in  which  vitality  is  abundant.  —  New  York  Herald. 

In   Guiana   Wilds.      A  STUDY  OF  Two  WOMEN.    By 

JAMES  RODWAY. 

Author  of  "  In  the  Guiana  Forest,"  etc. 
Library  I2mo,  cloth,  decorative,  illustrated,  250  pages        $1.25 

"  In  Guiana  Wilds "  may  be  described  as  an  ethnological 
romance.  A  typical  young  Scotchman  becomes,  by  the  force  of 
circumstances,  decivilized,  and  mates  with  a  native  woman. 

It  is  a  psychological  study  of  great  power  and  ability. 

The  Gray  House  of  the  Quarries.  sy  MARY 

HARRIOTT  NORRIS. 

With  a  frontispiece  etching  by  Edmund  H.  Garrett. 
8vo,  cloth  decorative,  500  pages  .         .         .         .         .         $i-S° 

"  The  peculiar  genre,  for  which,  in  a  literary  sense,  all  must  acknowledge  obliga- 
tion to  the  author  of  a  new  type,  is  the  Dutch-American  species.  The  church-goings, 
the  courtings,  the  pleasures  and  sorrows  of  a  primitive  people,  their  lives  and  deaths, 
weddings,  suicides,  births,  and  burials,  are  Rembrandt  and  Rubens  pictures  on  a 
fresh  canvas."  — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  fine  ideal  of  womanhood  in  a  person  never  once  physically  described  will 
gratify  the  highess  tone  of  the  period,  and  is  an  ennobling  conception."  —  Time  and 
the  Horn-,  Boston.. 


LIST   OF    FICTION  II 

Vivian  Of  Virginia.  BEING  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  OUR 
FIRST  REBELLION,  BY  JOHN  VIVIAN,  ESQ.,  OF  MIDDLE 
PLANTATION,  VIRGINIA.  By  HULBERT  FULLER. 

With  ten  full-page  illustrations  by  Frank  T.  Merrill. 

Library  izmo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge 
paper,  37  5  pages $1.50 

"  A  stirring  and  accurate  account  of  the  famous  Bacon  rebellion."  —  Lot  Angeles 
Sunday  Time*. 

"  We  shall  have  to  search  far  to  find  a  better  colonial  story  than  this." — Denver 
Republican. 

"  A  well-conceived,  well-plotted  romance,  full  of  life  and  adventure."  —  Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

"  A  story  abounding  in  exciting  incidents  and  well-told  conversations."  —  Boston 
Journal. 

"  Mr.  Fuller  will  find  a  large  circle  of  readers  for  his  romance  who  will  not  be 
disappointed  in  their  pleasant  expectations."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

"  Instead  of  using  history  as  a  background  for  the  exploits  of  the  hero,  the  author 
used  the  hero  to  bring  out  history  and  the  interesting  events  of  those  early  days  in 
Virginia.  The  author  has  preserved  the  language  and  customs  of  the  times  admi- 
rably . "  —  Philadelphia  Telegram. 

A   nan-at-AriTlS.    A  ROMANCE  OF  ITALY  IN  THE  DAYS 

OF  GIAN    GALEAZZO  VISCONTI,  THE   GREAT  VIPER.    By 

CLINTON  SCOLLARD. 
Author  of  "  Skenandoa,"  etc. 
With  six  full-page  illustrations  and  title-page  by  E.  W.  D. 

Hamilton. 
Library  i2mo,  cloth  decorative,  gilt  top,  deckle-edge 

paper,  360  pages $1.50 

"  The  style  is  admirable,  simple,  direct,  fluent,  and  sometimes  eloquent ;  and  the 
•tory  moves  with  rapidity  from  start  to  finish." —  The  Bookman. 
"  A  good  story."  —  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 
"  It  is  a  triumph  in  style."  —  Utica  Herald. 


Bobbie   McDllff .     By  CLINTON  Ross,  AUTHOR  OF  <;  THE 

SCARLET  COAT,"  "  ZULEIKA,"  ETC, 
Illustrated  by  B.  West  Clinedinst. 
Large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative,  260  pages     .        .        .        $1.00 

"  '  Bobbie  McDuff ,'  by  Clinton  Ross,  is  a  healthy  romance,  tersely  and  vigorously 
told."  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

"It  is  full  of  mystery  and  as  fascinating  as  a  fairy  tale."  —  San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

"  It  is  a  well-written  itory.  full  of  surprises  and  abomndiag  in  vivid  interest."  — 
Bosttn. 


12  L.   C.    PAGE    AND    COMPANY  S 

A    Hypocritical     Romance   AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  CAROLINE  TICKNOR. 
Illustrated  by  J.  W.  Kennedy. 

Large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative $1.00 

Miss  Ticknor,  well  known  as  one  of  the  most  promising  of  the 
younger  school  of  American  writers,  has  never  done  better  work 
than  in  the  majority  of  these  clever  stories,  written  in  a  delightful 
comedy  vein. 

A     Mad     Madonna     AND    OTHER    STORIES.      By  L. 

CLARKSON  WHITELOCK. 
With  eight  half-tone  illustrations. 

i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative      .        .         .        .        $1.00 

A  half  dozen  remarkable  psychological  stories,  delicate  in  color 

and  conception.     Each  of  the  six  has  a  touch  of  the  supernatural,  a 

quick  suggestion,  a  vivid  intensity,  and  a  dreamy  realism  that  is 

matchless  in  its  forceful  execution. 

On   the   Point.      A  SUMMER  IDYL.    By  NATHAN  HAS- 

KELL  DOLE. 

Author  of  "  Not  Angels  Quite,"  with  dainty  half-tone  illustra- 
tions as  chapter  headings. 

i  vol.,  large  i6mo,  cloth  decorative  ....  $1.00 
A  bright  and  clever  story  of  a  summer  on  the  coast  of  Maine, 
fresh,  breezy,  and  readable  from  the  first  to  the  last  page.  The 
narrative  describes  the  summer  outing  of  a  Mr.  Merrithew  and  his 
family.  The  characters  are  all  honest,  pleasant  people,  whom  we 
are  glad  to  know.  We  part  from  them  with  the  same  regret  with 
which  we  leave  a  congenial  party  of  friends. 

Cyrano  de  Bergerac.     A  HEROIC  COMEDY  FROM 

THE  FRENCH  OF  EDWARD  ROSTAND,  AS  ACCEPTED  AND 
PLAYED  BY  RICHARD  MANSFIELD.  TRANSLATED  BY  HOW- 
ARD THAYER  KINGSBURY. 

i  vol.,  cloth  decorative,  with  a  photogravure  frontis- 
piece           $1.00 

i  vol.,  paper  boards .50 

The  immediate  and  prolonged  success  of  "  Cyrano  de  Bergerac," 
in  Paris,  has  been  paralleled  by  Mr.  Mansfield's  success  with  an 
English  version,  dating  from  its  first  night  at  the  Garden  Theatre, 
New  York,  October  3,  1898. 

As  a  literary  work,  the  original  form  of  Rostand  took  high  rank ; 
and  the  preference  of  Mr.  Mansfield  for  Mr.  Kingsbury's  new  trans- 
lation implies  its  superior  merit. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGOMI.  UBR/WY 


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